The Stonecutter (32 page)

‘Tell me,’ said Erica softly, and Niclas gratefully began pouring out everything in one incoherent and unpleasant mass.

When he finished, the relief on his face was evident. Erica didn’t know what to say. She caressed Maja’s cheek, as if to defend herself against such an ugly and horrible reality. She was torn between wanting to tell him to go to hell, and wanting to hug him and pat his back consolingly. Instead she just said, ‘You have to tell Charlotte everything. Go home right now and tell her everything you told me. And I’ll be here if she needs to talk. Then …’ Erica paused, unsure of how to say it, ‘then the two of you have to get a grip on your life. If Charlotte, and I’m saying
if,
she can forgive you, then you’ll have to make it your responsibility to see to it that the two of you can go on. The first thing you have to do is to arrange things so that you both get out of that house. Charlotte was already being driven crazy by Lilian, and I know that since Sara died it’s only gotten worse. You two have to have your own home. A home where you can find your way back to each other again, where you can grieve for Sara in peace. Where you can become a family.’

Niclas nodded. ‘Yes, I know you’re right. I should have taken care of that long ago, but I was so involved in my own troubles that I didn’t see …’

He bent forward and stared hard at the tabletop. When he looked up his eyes were filled with tears. ‘I miss her so much, Erica. I miss her so much that it feels like I’m falling apart. Sara is gone, Erica. It’s only now that I’m starting to understand it. Sara is gone.’

The tears ran down his cheeks and dripped onto the table. His whole body was shaking, and his face was contorted almost beyond recognition. Erica reached across the table and took his hand in hers. For a long time they sat together as he sobbed out his pain.

That weekend, it happened again. A couple of weeks had passed since the last time, so Sebastian had begun to hope that it was all just a dream, or that it had ended once and for all. But then those moments returned. The moments of loathing, denial, and pain.

If only he knew how to fight it. Whenever it happened, he felt his lack of will paralyze his body, and he had to let himself float along.

Sebastian wrapped his arms around his knees as he sat at the top of Veddeberget. From this high up, he could look out over the bay. It was cold and windy, but beautiful. For once it felt the same outside as it did inside him, though inside it also felt as if it was raining. Pouring down and flushing away all that was good and whole. As if his whole world were running down a gigantic drain.

And Rune had chewed him out, on top of everything else. Yelled and screamed and said he damn well didn’t see that Sebastian was making enough of an effort. That he had to do better. That he wasn’t going to have any future if he didn’t work harder, because he certainly didn’t have a good head for studying. But he had tried. As much as he could under the circumstances. It wasn’t his fault that everything turned to shit.

His eyes were stinging. Angrily he wiped them with the sleeve of his sweater. The last thing he wanted was to sit here blubbering like some cry-baby. Especially when it was all his own fault. If he’d only been a little stronger, then it wouldn’t have happened. Not the first time. Not the second time either. Not over and over and over again.

Now the tears were running down his cheeks, and he rubbed them so hard with his rough woolen sleeve that red streaks appeared on his face.

For a moment he had an impulse to put an end to it all. It would be so easy. A few steps over to the edge and then he could jump. In a couple of seconds it would all be over, and no one would really care. Rune would surely be relieved. Then he wouldn’t have to take care of somebody’s else’s kid. Maybe he could even meet someone else and get the son he really wanted.

Sebastian stood up. The thought was tempting. He walked slowly over to the cliff and looked down. It was a steep drop. He tried to imagine how it would feel. To fly through the air, utterly weightless for a few moments, and then the thud when his body hit the ground. Would he feel anything at all in that instant? Testing, he stuck one foot over the edge of the cliff and let it hang free in the air. Then the thought struck him that he might not die from the fall. What if he survived, but was a cripple? A drooling vegetable for the rest of his life: then Rune would really have something to grumble about. Although he would no doubt bundle him off to some nursing home as quickly as possible.

He sat down again and slowly scooted back from the edge. With his arms hugging his chest, he gazed out toward the horizon. Far, far away.

As soon as Niclas walked in the door, she threw herself over him.

‘What happened? Aina called and said that the police came and got you at work, is that true?’ Lilian’s voice was anxious, bordering on panic-stricken. ‘I haven’t said anything to Charlotte,’ she added.

Niclas waved her off, but Lilian wasn’t easy to dismiss. She followed him to the kitchen, bombarding him with questions. He ignored her and went straight to the coffee-maker and poured himself a big cup of coffee. The machine was shut off and the coffee was hardly more than lukewarm, but it didn’t matter. He needed coffee. Really he needed a big glass of whiskey, but he knew he should stick to the non-alcoholic alternative.

He sat down at the table, and Lilian did the same, still scrutinizing him. What sort of idiotic ideas had the police come up with now? Didn’t they know that Niclas was someone to be respected, a doctor, a successful man? Once again she was amazed that her daughter had made such a catch. Of course, they’d been only teenagers when they started going out together, but Lilian had seen immediately that Niclas was a man with a future, and so she had encouraged the relationship. She ascribed it to luck that Niclas chose Charlotte above all the other girls who were running after him. She was pretty cute, of course, when she made an effort, but even as a teenager she had put on a few too many pounds, and worst of all she had no ambitions. And yet Charlotte had won what her mother had wished for most of all. Lilian had worn her son-in-law’s success like a star on her chest, but now everything was at risk. She was terrified of the town gossips, who would instantly start spreading rumors if it came out that the police had taken Niclas in for questioning. His eyes were completely red from crying too, so they must have given him a hard time.

‘Well, what did they want?’

‘They just had a few questions,’ Niclas said dismissively, gulping down the nearly cold coffee.

‘What sort of questions?’ Lilian refused to give up. If she was going to have to run the gauntlet whenever she ventured into town, she at least wanted to know what it was all about.

But Niclas ignored her. He got up and put the empty coffee cup in the dishwasher.

‘Is Charlotte downstairs?’

‘She’s resting,’ said Lilian, not bothering to conceal her anger at not getting an answer.

‘I’m going down to talk to her.’

‘What do you want to talk to her about?’ Lilian still wouldn’t let up. But by now Niclas had had enough.

‘That’s between me and Charlotte. I already told you it was nothing special. I assume I’m allowed to speak with my own wife without informing you, aren’t I? Erica is right, it’s time for Charlotte and me to get a place of our own.’

Lilian shrank back with every syllable. Niclas had always treated her with respect, so his words now felt like slaps in the face. Especially after all she had done for him. For him and Charlotte. The injustice of it all! She searched for something caustic to say, but he was already halfway down the stairs. She sat down at the kitchen table again. Her thoughts were tumbling about in her head. How could he speak to her that way? She had never had anything but their best interests in mind. She had constantly made sacrifices and put her own interests last. They were like leeches, sucking all the energy out of her. Lilian could see it so clearly now. Stig, Charlotte, and now even Niclas too. They were all exploiting her. They took and took from her outstretched hand, but without ever giving anything in return.

Charlotte sat thinking about her father. It was strange, but during the eight years that had passed since his death, she had thought about him less and less. The memories had turned into vague, out-of-focus images of a few specific moments. But since Sara died, she remembered him as clearly as if he’d been here yesterday.

They had been very close, she and Lennart. Much closer than she and her mother had ever been. Sometimes it had almost felt as if they shared the same soul. He had always been able to make her laugh. Her mother seldom laughed, and Charlotte couldn’t remember a single time all of them had laughed together. Her father had been the diplomat of the family, always mediating and trying to explain things, why Lilian kept badgering her daughter, why nothing Charlotte did was ever good enough. Why she could never live up to her mother’s expectations. On the other hand, she had never disappointed her father. In his eyes she had been perfect; she knew that.

It came as a shock when he fell ill. The disease progressed so slowly, so gradually, that it took a long time before they even noticed it was happening. Sometimes Charlotte wondered if she could have forestalled his death if she’d been more observant, seen the signs earlier. But back then she and Niclas were living in Uddevalla, and she was pregnant with Sara. She’d been so wrapped up in her own life. When she eventually noticed that he wasn’t feeling well, she had for once joined forces with Lilian and wrangled with him until he went in for a medical exam. But by then it was too late. After that, everything happened so fast. Only a month later he was dead. The doctors said that he’d contracted a rare disease that attacked the nervous system and gradually broke down his body. They also said that it wouldn’t have helped if he had come in earlier. But Charlotte still felt guilty.

She wondered whether she could have kept his memory more alive if she’d had more room in which to grieve for him. But Lilian had taken up all the space there was. She’d laid claim to all mourning rights and demanded that her grief take precedence over everyone else’s. A torrent of people had passed through their home in the weeks after Lennart had died, and for them Charlotte could just as well have been part of the furniture. All condolences, all expressions of regret were directed toward Lilian, who held audience like a queen. At those moments Charlotte had hated her mother. The ironic thing was that just before they got the news of Lennart’s diagnosis, she thought that her father had been about to leave Lilian. The quarrels and bickering had escalated, and a separation seemed inevitable. But then Lennart fell ill, and Charlotte realized that her mother had cast all the old grudges aside and devoted herself wholeheartedly to her husband. It was only afterward that Charlotte had begun to feel bitter about her mother’s seemingly boundless need to be the center of attention.

But the years passed and she tried to put bitterness aside. Life held too much else for her to keep focusing on bad feelings toward her mother. Nor had she had the time to think about or mourn her father. But now, with Sara’s death, this was no longer the case. Life had caught up with her, run her down, and left her aching by the side of the road. Now she had all the time in the world to think about the man who should have been here right now, mourning Sara along with her. Who would have known what to say, who would have stroked her hair and said that everything was going to be all right. Lilian, as usual, was worrying too much about herself to take the time to listen, and Niclas, well, he was just Niclas, sealed inside his own little cocoon. Of course he had never let her get very close, but now he was like a shadow figure slinking in and out of her life. He laid his head on the pillow next to hers every night, but then they lay there side by side, careful not to touch each other. Afraid that a sudden and unexpected contact of skin against skin might open wounds that would be better left alone. They had been through so much together. Against all odds they had maintained an illusion of unity, at least, but now she wondered whether they might have come to the end of the road.

Footsteps on the stairs roused her from these weighty thoughts. She looked up and saw Niclas. A glance at the clock showed that there were still a couple of hours left until he was due home from work.

‘Hi, are you home already?’ she said in surprise, starting to get up.

‘Don’t get up, we need to talk.’ Her heart sank. Whatever it was he had to say, it wasn’t going to be good.

20

Fjällbacka 1928

As it turned out, life in the new house wasn’t the big improvement she had hoped for. Her new identity still took precedence over the person she had once been. With each passing year her bitterness grew, and the life she had lived before Anders seemed more like a distant dream. Had she really worn fine dresses, played the piano at elegant parties, and had suitors who competed to dance with her? Above all, was there actually a time when she could eat as much food and sweets as she liked?

She had inquired about her father, and to her satisfaction she heard that he was a broken man. He now lived alone in the big house and went out only to go to work. That pleased Agnes; she harbored a faint hope that he might take her back if his life had turned sufficiently miserable. But the years passed and nothing happened, and that hope was fading.

The boys were now four years old and completely incorrigible. They ran wild around the neighborhood, as small as they were, and Agnes had neither the desire nor the energy to discipline them properly. And Anders had even longer workdays now that he had to travel from town out to the quarry. He left before the boys woke up and came home after they had gone to bed. Only on Sundays could he spend a little time with them, and then they were so happy to have him home that they behaved like little angels.

They hadn’t had any more children, Agnes made sure of that. Anders had made some awkward attempts to rekindle their romance, but she’d had no difficulty saying no. The desire she once felt for him was utterly gone. Now she was merely disgusted, and she shuddered at the thought of feeling his dirty, lacerated fingers anywhere near her skin. Even his failure to protest the enforced celibacy made her contemptuous. What some people would call consideration, she called spinelessness, and the fact that he still did most of the housework only reinforced that image. No real man would wash his children’s clothes or make his own bag lunch, even if he only did so because she refused.