The Stonecutter (2 page)

Her father’s villa in Strömstad was one of the grandest in town. It stood high up on the hill, with a view over the water. It had been paid for partly with her mother’s inherited fortune and partly with the money her father had made in the granite business. He had been close to losing everything once, during the strike of 1914, when to a man the stonecutters rose up against the big companies. But order was eventually restored, and after the war, business had flourished again. The quarry in Krokstrand outside Strömstad, in particular, began pulling in big profits with deliveries primarily to France.

Agnes didn’t care much about where the money came from. She was born rich and had always lived as rich people do. It made no difference whether the money was inherited or earned, as long as she could buy jewelry and fine clothes. She knew that not everyone felt this way. Her mother’s parents had been horrified when their daughter married Agnes’s father. His wealth was newly acquired, and his parents had been poor. They didn’t fit in at big dinner parties. They were only invited when no one outside the immediate family was present, and even these gatherings proved embarrassing. The pitiful things had no idea how to behave in the finer salons, and their contributions to the conversation were hopeless. Agnes’s maternal grandparents had never understood what their daughter could see in August Stjernkvist, or rather Persson, which was his surname at birth. He had changed his last name in an attempt to move up the social ladder, but he wasn’t fooling them. But none of that mattered once Agnes was born. They were enchanted with their granddaughter, and they competed with her father in spoiling Agnes after her mother died so suddenly after giving birth.

‘Sweetheart, I’m driving down to the office.’

Agnes turned round when her father came into the room. She had been playing the grand piano that stood facing the window, mostly because she knew how lovely she looked sitting there. Certainly she looked better than she sounded. She didn’t have much natural musical talent. Despite years of expensive piano lessons, she could only struggle passably through the sheet music on the stand in front of her.

‘Father, have you thought about that dress I showed you the other day?’ She looked at him entreatingly and saw how he was torn, as usual, between his instinct to say no and his inability to do so.

‘My dear, I just bought you a new dress in Oslo …’

‘But it had a quilted lining, Father. You can’t expect me to wear a dress with a quilted lining to the party on Saturday, when it’s so warm outside, can you?’

She gave him a vexed frown and waited for his reaction, ready with a quivering lip and a few tears if necessary. But today he looked tired, and she didn’t think it would take any more effort on her part. She was correct.

‘Yes, all right, run down to the shop tomorrow and order it, then. But you’re going to give your old father gray hair one day.’ He shook his head but couldn’t help smiling when she bounded over and kissed him on the cheek.

‘Now look,’ he said, ‘you’d better sit down and practice your scales. It’s possible that they might ask you to play a little on Saturday, so you’ll want to be prepared.’

Satisfied, Agnes sat back down on the piano bench and obediently began practicing, imagining the scene on Saturday. Everyone’s eyes would be fixed on her as she sat at the piano in the flickering candlelight, resplendent in her new red dress.

Finally, the migraine was beginning to subside. The iron band across her forehead was gradually releasing its grip, and she could cautiously open her eyes. It was quiet upstairs. Good. Charlotte turned over in bed and closed her eyes again, enjoying feeling the pain fade. Slowly relaxation crept through her limbs.

After resting for a while, she gingerly sat up on the edge of the bed and massaged her temples. They were still tender after the attack, and she knew from experience that the soreness would linger for a couple of hours.

Albin must be taking his afternoon nap upstairs. That meant that in good conscience she could wait a bit before going up to him. God knows that with an eight-month-old she needed all the rest she could get. The increased stress in recent months had made the migraines come on more often, sapping her of every last ounce of energy.

She decided to give Erica a call and hear how her fellow sufferer was doing. For as stressed out as Charlotte was at the moment, she couldn’t help worrying about Erica’s state of mind. The two women hadn’t known each other long, but they had grown close quickly. They’d started talking because they kept running into each other when they were out walking with the baby strollers. Erica with two-month-old Maja, and Charlotte with little Albin. After they had discovered that they only lived a stone’s throw from each other, they began meeting almost every day. But Charlotte soon began to worry about her new friend, who was more apathetic and depressed than seemed natural. Charlotte had even carefully brought up the subject of post-partum depression with Patrik, but he had dismissed the idea, saying that having a new baby was a big adjustment and that everything would be fine as soon as they got into a routine.

She reached for the phone on the nightstand and punched in Erica’s number.

‘Hi, it’s Charlotte.’

Erica sounded groggy and subdued when she replied, and Charlotte felt even more uneasy. Something wasn’t right. Not right at all.

But after they had talked for a while, Erica perked up a bit. Even Charlotte thought it felt good to be able to chat for a few extra minutes and postpone waking up Albin and facing her mother. But soon she would have to go upstairs and return to the exhausting reality of life in her mother’s house.

As if sensing what Charlotte was thinking, Erica asked how the house-hunting was going.

‘Slow. Much too slow. Niclas is working all the time, it seems. He never has time to drive around and look at houses. And there isn’t much to choose from right now anyway, so I suppose we’re stuck here for a while longer.’ She gave a deep sigh.

‘It’ll all work out, you’ll see.’ Erica’s voice was comforting, but Charlotte wasn’t reassured. She, Niclas, and the children had already been living with her mother and Stig for six months. The way things looked now, they were going to have to stay for another half a year. That might be all right for Niclas, who was at the clinic from morning to night, but for Charlotte being cooped up with the kids was unbearable.

In theory it had sounded so good when Niclas suggested the idea. A position for a district physician had opened up in Fjällbacka, and after five years in Uddevalla they had felt ready for a change of scene. Besides, Albin was on the way, conceived as a last attempt to save their marriage. So why not start their life over completely? The more Niclas had talked about the plan, the better it had sounded. And the thought of having close access to her parents for babysitting, now that they were going to have two kids, had also sounded tempting.

But reality was an entirely different story. It took no more than a few days before Charlotte remembered exactly why she had been so eager to leave her parents’ house. On the other hand, a few things had definitely turned out the way they had hoped. But this wasn’t a topic she could discuss with Erica, no matter how much she would have liked to. It had to remain a secret, otherwise it might destroy their whole family.

Erica’s voice interrupted her reverie. ‘So, how’s it going with your mom? Is she driving you nuts?’

‘To say the least. Everything I do is wrong. I’m too strict with the kids, I’m too lenient with the kids, I make them wear too many clothes, I make them wear too few clothes, they don’t get enough to eat, I stuff them with too much food, I’m too fat, I’m too sloppy … The list never ends,’ she said.

‘What about Niclas?’

‘Oh no, Niclas is perfect in Mamma’s eyes. She coos and fawns all over him and feels sorry that he has such a worthless wife. He can do no wrong as far as she’s concerned.’

‘But doesn’t he see how she treats you?’

‘Like I said, he’s almost never at home. And she’s on her best behavior whenever he’s around. You know what he said yesterday when I had the audacity to complain? “But Charlotte, dear, why can’t you just give in a little?” Give in a little? If I gave in any more I’d be completely obliterated. It made me so mad, I haven’t spoken to him since. So now he’s probably sitting there at work feeling sorry for himself because he has such an unreasonable wife. No wonder I came down with the world’s worst migraine this morning.’

A sound from upstairs made Charlotte get up reluctantly.

‘Erica, I’ve got to run upstairs and see to Albin. Otherwise Mamma will be doing the whole martyr bit before I get there … But remember, I’m coming by this afternoon with some pastries. Maybe around 3:00? Here I’ve been going on about myself, and I haven’t even asked how you’re doing. But I’ll be over later.’

She hung up and combed her fingers quickly through her hair before she took a deep breath and went upstairs.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to be like this at all. She had plowed through tons of books about having a child and what life would be like as a parent, but nothing she’d read had prepared her for this. Instead, it seemed like a huge plot. The authors raved about happy hormones and how you would float on a pink cloud when you held your baby, naturally feeling a totally overwhelming love at first sight toward the little bundle of joy. Of course it was mentioned, but only in passing, that you would probably be more exhausted than you’d ever been in your life. But even that was shrouded in a romantic halo, and all part of the wondrous package of motherhood.

Bullshit! was Erica’s honest assessment after two months as a mother. Lies, propaganda, utter crap! She had never in her entire life felt so miserable, tired, angry, frustrated, and worn out as she had since Maja arrived. And she certainly hadn’t experienced any all-consuming love when the red, shrieking, and yes,
ugly
bundle was placed on her breast. Even though maternal feelings were creeping in ever so slowly, it still felt as though a stranger had invaded their home. Sometimes she almost regretted their decision to have a child. She and Patrik had been getting along so well, just the two of them, until their all-too-human selfishness combined with a desire to see their own excellent genes reproduced. In one stroke they had changed their lives, and she was reduced to a round-the-clock milk machine.

How such a little baby could be so ravenous was beyond her comprehension. Maja was constantly clinging to Erica’s breasts, which were twice the size they should be and swollen with milk. These days she felt like she was just two huge walking breasts. Nor was her figure in general anything to cheer about. When she came home from the maternity hospital, she still looked very pregnant, and the pounds were not dropping away as fast as she hoped. Her only consolation was that Patrik had also eaten like a horse when she was pregnant, and now he too was carrying a few extra pounds.

Thank goodness the pain was almost gone by now, but she still felt sweaty, bloated, and generally lousy. Her legs had not seen a razor in several months, and she was in desperate need of a haircut and maybe some highlights. Erica briefly abandoned herself to that fantasy, but then reality took over. How the hell could she get out of the house to do that? Oh, how she envied Patrik. For at least eight hours every day he was released into the real world, the world of grownups. Nowadays her only company was Ricki Lake and Oprah Winfrey, as she listlessly zapped the remote while Maja sucked and sucked.

Patrik assured Erica that he would rather stay home with her and Maja than go to work, but she could see in his eyes that what he really felt was relief at being able to escape for a while. She sympathized, but couldn’t help feeling bitter. Why did she have to bear such a heavy load when the baby had been a mutual decision and should have been a mutual project? Shouldn’t he carry an equal share of the burden?

So every day she kept close tabs on the time he had promised to come home. If he was even five minutes late she would be consumed by annoyance, and any later meant he could expect a real onslaught of fury. As soon as he came in the door she would dump Maja into his arms, if his arrival coincided with one of the rare breaks in her breastfeeding schedule. Erica would then fall into bed wearing earplugs, just for a few moments away from the shrieks of the baby.

Erica sighed as she sat holding the phone in her hand. Everything seemed so hopeless. But her chats with her friend were a welcome break in the gloom. As the mother of two kids, Charlotte was a steady rock to lean on, and full of calm assurances. Secretly, too, Erica had to admit that it was nice to listen to someone else’s hardships instead of focusing on her own.

Of course, there was another source of concern in Erica’s life—Anna. She had only talked to her sister a few times since Maja was born, but even in these few calls she felt that something was off. Anna sounded subdued and distant on the phone, even as she claimed that everything was fine. And Erica was so wrapped up in her own misery that she hadn’t pressed her sister for more information. But something was wrong, she was sure of that, and as soon as she was stronger she would find out what it was.