Theres was still asleep, and Jerry flopped down in the armchair to catch his breath. When she woke up he put the TV on very loud to drown out any possible suspicious noises. He couldn’t stop himself from going over to the window a couple of times to peer down at the street.
The day passed against the backdrop of repeats and ad breaks on TV4. Theres lay on the sofa, following everything with dull eyes. He tried feeding her a couple of spoonfuls of baby rice. Then he sat on the armchair, hugging his knees and waiting anxiously for the poor attempt at nutrition to come back up again. When it didn’t, he was absurdly pleased and gave her a little more. She’d had enough then, but at least she didn’t throw it up.
The incidents with Hirsfeldt and the checkout girl had brought things to a head. Jerry could no longer amble along pretending everything would be fine. Unfortunately, he was much too tired to be able to come up with any kind of strategy. He fed Theres a few spoonfuls of baby rice from time to time, was pleased when she kept it down, wiped her sweating brow and sat with her as fresh cramps racked her body from time to time.
For Jerry, the hours that passed in their little bubble were dominated by two strong impressions. The first was claustrophobia. The room felt smaller than usual, the walls were closing in around him and outside the walls were watchful eyes. He shrank into himself, compressed down to a stock cube whose sole function was to feed and care for Theres.
However, the claustrophobia was balanced by a new discovery: the joy of caring for another person. It was deeply satisfying to support Theres’ head with his hand as he brought the spoon to her lips, then watched her swallow and keep down the food he had given her. He got a warm feeling in his chest when she sighed with relief as he wiped her hot face with a cool, damp towel.
Or maybe it wasn’t quite such a pretty picture. Maybe it was all about power, the fact that she was completely dependent on him. No one had ever depended on him for survival, but Theres was very clearly in that position now.
Nobody even knew she existed. He could press a pillow over her face and nobody would say a word.
But did he do that? No, not Jerry. He made her baby rice and moistened towels and changed sheets. He was there for her, looking after her. He had such power over her that he didn’t even need to exert it. Jerry was a terrific guy, for a change.
Idol started at eight o’clock. When some girl pitched up and started melodramatically wailing, ‘Didn’t we almost have it all’, Theres lay on the sofa and sang along in a weak voice. Jerry’s eyes grew moist, no thanks to the girl on the screen.
‘Bloody hell, sis,’ he said. ‘You could do a much better job than her. You can sing the crap out of the lot of them.’
Later in the evening Theres took a turn for the worse. The cramps were coming more frequently, and when Jerry took her temperature the thermometer showed 40.3. By midnight she was too weak even to lift her head to vomit, so Jerry had to sit by her, poised with a towel. He might have fainted with exhaustion if the fear hadn’t kept him awake.
He dragged his mattress into the living room and lay down on the floor beside her. He no longer cared if Hirsfeldt called the cops or if the checkout girl was spying on him from the bushes, he just didn’t want Theres to die. He’d never seen anyone this ill. If Ingemar showed his snout in Norrtälje again, Jerry would knock it down his throat.
He might just have dropped off for a moment when he heard Theres whisper, ‘Toilet.’
He carried her to the bathroom, then sat in front of her holding onto her shoulders to stop her falling off the toilet. She was so hot his palms were covered in sweat. It was impossible to understand how her little body could produce so much heat. Her head was drooping, and suddenly she gave up the last vestige of resistance and went limp.
‘Sis? Sis? Theres!’
He lifted her head. Her eyes had rolled back so that the whites were showing, and a dribble of saliva trickled from her motionless lips. He put his ear close to her mouth and could hear the faintest sound of breathing, a puff of desert heat against his ear. He picked her up and carried her back to the sofa, bathed her with cloths soaked in cool water, then lay down beside her and took her hand.
‘Sis? Sis? Don’t die. Please. I won’t hand you over. I’ll look after you, do you hear me? I’ll sort it out somehow, but don’t die. Do you hear me?’
Jerry curled up on his mattress without letting go of her hand; he lay there staring at her mouth in the semi-darkness, because only her lips moving from time to time indicated that she was still alive. Jerry fixed his gaze on them and realised something he should have grasped long ago: Don’t die. You’re all I’ve got.
Perhaps five minutes had passed, or it might have been an hour. Perhaps he was asleep and dreaming, or perhaps he was awake and really did see what he saw. If he was dreaming, then he dreamed that he was lying on a mattress next to Theres holding her warm, lifeless hand when her mouth opened a couple of centimetres. A first he was pleased, because it was the clearest sign of life for a couple of hours. Then he saw the thin curl of red smoke beginning to emerge from her lips.
Panic hammered a nail into his chest and he leapt to his feet. Crazed with exhaustion and fear, he grabbed the damp towel and threw it over her mouth, over her face, to stop the smoke escaping. He pressed the fabric against her lips, shaking his head dementedly.
It’s not like this, this isn’t what happens, this isn’t happening.
A few seconds passed and he expected to see the red smoke begin to seep through the fabric. Then he realised what he was doing. He ripped away the towel and placed his ear to her mouth. He couldn’t hear or feel anything, and he banged his temples with both hands until brass bells started reverberating in the back of his head.
I’ve killed her. I’ve killed her. I’ve suffocated her.
Theres opened her eyes and Jerry screamed and staggered backwards, knocking over the coffee table which went crashing to the ground. She held her hand out to him. Jerry took a couple of deep breaths and regained control of himself. He took her hand and whispered, ‘I thought you’d died. Just now.’
Theres closed her eyes and said, ‘I was dead. Then I wasn’t dead.’
Someone knocked on the wall. Hirsfeldt was awake.
During the night the fever began to abate, and by morning her temperature was down to 38 degrees. Theres was able to drink water, and even managed a little of the apricot puree left in the fridge. She sat up in bed and managed to hold the spoon herself. Jerry had slept for a couple hours, and felt so relieved he had to express it in some way. When he stroked her cheek she didn’t look at him, didn’t give the slightest hint of a smile. But nor did she move her head away.
An hour or so later Jerry was sitting at the computer searching for property to rent.
After a couple of days spent exchanging emails and making phone calls, Jerry gave Theres detailed instructions on what she could and couldn’t do during his absence, then set off for Stockholm to check out an apartment in Svedmyra.
It was a three-room apartment, 82 square metres, in an area that turned out to be so quiet and peaceful that you could have heard a pin drop on one of the many glassed-in balconies.
Jerry plodded slowly from the subway station and tried to get a feel for the place. It felt…finished. Maybe things had happened here once upon a time, maybe young lads in caps had run around feeling trendy among the three-storey brick buildings, but that was long ago. The lads had hung up their caps, and had their feet up with the cat and the TV these days.