He was still in the shower.
Without consciously deciding which direction she would take, she drove out towards Värmdö, turned off on the road towards Gustavsberg and pulled into a parking space.
My love,
Every minute, every moment I am wherever you are. Merely the knowledge that you exist makes me happy. I live for the brief times we have together. I know that what we’re doing is wrong, that we shouldn’t feel the way we do, but how could I ever say no? I don’t know how many times I’ve decided to try and forget you, but then you stand there in front of me and I just can’t. If everything came out I would probably lose my job, you would lose your family, everything would be chaos. And yet I can’t stop loving you. The instant I pray that all this had never happened, I’m scared to death that my prayer might be answered. I realise that I am ready to lose everything as long as I can be with you.
I love you, your L
The nausea grew stronger with every word she read. She had a parasite inside and she felt like puking, turning herself inside out to get rid of it. In an unguarded moment it had forced its way in and taken over her whole system, poisoned her family, and yet this was not punishable by law. There wasn’t one line in the law books that could regulate the crime that had been committed. This woman had crushed a family and turned a child’s parents against each other; the damage she had caused was unforgivable and could never be repaired.
She scanned one of the other letters but couldn’t go on. The words she held in her hands consumed all the oxygen in the car, it was no longer possible to breathe. She tossed them onto the passenger seat and climbed out of the car to get some air.
She had a prickly sensation in her left arm.
Leaning forward with her eyes closed, she stood there with her hands flat on the bonnet. A car approached from the direction of Gustavsberg and she straightened up again. The last thing she wanted was for someone to stop and ask how she was. For anyone to see her at all.
When the car went past she saw the letters through the windscreen. They lay there in her car and she hated them, hated each and every black word printed on the white paper. Hated the fact that they were the same letters of the alphabet that she used, that she would always have to use.
Somewhere in the darkness she wondered about the passion that Henrik had managed to awaken in the other woman.
Why him, of all people?
What was it she saw?
Had she herself ever loved in the way that the words described? Maybe at first, but if so she couldn’t remember. They had once, back when everything was different, decided to live their lives together, and to seal their decision they had brought a child into the world, a lifelong responsibility. And now, just because he was feeling a bit randy, it was all going to be shattered, all feeling of companionship abolished. As long as he could screw Axel’s day-care teacher and get away with it, everything would be fine.
Fucking pig.
The anger came over her again and the prickling in her left arm subsided.
She was all decisiveness again.
She got into the car and picked up the first letter.
It was hard to believe that such a little poet was hidden behind that fey smile that greeted them every morning. On the other hand, the letter was perfect, didn’t need the least bit of editing. And it was really eye-opening that she was ready to lose everything. That’s what it said in black and white, and that was precisely what was going to happen.
Your prayer will be granted, little Linda, it most certainly will.
She looked at the clock. It was already a quarter past ten and time to drive back. By this time they would no doubt have set off on their picnic in the woods.
She started the car, made a U-turn, and drove back towards the day-care centre.
To be on the safe side, she left the car in the car park outside Ica and walked the last bit. No one could see her car in the vicinity of the day-care centre just now, no one would see her at all if it was avoidable. The playground at the back was deserted, the only things moving were the black tyres on their chains, swinging lightly in the breeze; otherwise everything was still. She wondered whether all the other children had gone too. That would definitely be best, as long as they hadn’t locked all the doors behind them.
The street door to Axel’s section was locked. She continued around the corner, passing the helter-skelter, and from a distance she could see that the door to the kitchen was held ajar with a blue plastic crate. Maybe Ines was busy preparing the afternoon snack. She walked the last bit to the door and listened at the opening. There was no sound other than a radio, and it seemed to be playing its music to an empty room.
If anyone happened to see her from one of the windows, she couldn’t just stand there hesitating, she had to act as though it was completely normal for her to be at her son’s day-care centre at five minutes past eleven on a Friday morning. Anyway, it wouldn’t be a problem if someone asked. Finding a reasonable explanation for her presence was the least of her worries.
She opened the door and went inside. The kitchen was completely empty. Only three loaves of rye bread wrapped in plastic and a packet of Marlboro Lights on the stainless steel workbench in the middle of the room disturbed the order. The sound of a flushing toilet revealed where Ines was, and Eva hurried out into the corridor and down to Kerstin’s office. No one in sight. She dashed past the staff room and the toddlers’ section and in through the wide-open doors. Then she pulled them closed as quietly as she could and locked them. If anyone showed up, the locked doors would give her a few seconds’ respite. She was actually just here to leave a message for Kerstin, and that was all anyone would see her doing if they unexpectedly interrupted her.
She went over to the desk.
She had never been a computer expert, but she should be able to work out how to start one of the computers. She put down her briefcase, pressed a button, and sat down in the chair to wait for the machine to boot up. Right in front of her was a notice-board with this autumn’s group pictures from the four day-care sections. About sixty children and the staff that took care of them. Axel sitting crosslegged on the floor and just behind him the snake who had stolen his secure life. She stood up, leaned over the desk and regarded her enemy. Her blonde hair down over her shoulders. And that fucking smile. She wouldn’t be smiling much longer.
She sat back down.
A window had appeared on the screen that asked for her username and password. She keyed in Linda Persson and clicked down to password.
Usually three attempts were allowed; that’s how it was with the server at work, at least.
Henrik. Please check your password. Axel. Wrong again. Bitch. Please contact community technical support.
She looked up at the notice-board again. Somewhere they must have the password written down so they wouldn’t have to look it up in the internal catalogue, but maybe they knew it by heart. She picked up the phone and punched zero.
‘School Board headquarters.’
‘Hi, Kerstin Evertsson from Kortbacken pre-school. I’ve forgotten the number for computer technical support.’
‘Four zero eleven. Shall I connect you?’
‘No thanks.’
She hung up. She could ring internally herself to minimise the risk of arousing suspicion. She lifted the receiver and dialled the number.
‘Computer support.’
‘Yes, hi, this is Linda Persson from Kortbacken preschool. We have a problem with our computer here and none of us can get into our email. It’s something with the password.’
‘I see, well, that’s odd. What did you say your name was?’