It was important that it be done correctly.
Really important.
She sat in her car for half an hour before she returned to their door. She stood there for a minute, breathing quietly, then scrupulously assumed her professional role, although leaving her top button undone. She was there as a friend, not as a doctor. It was as both Monika and Doctor Lundvall that she had to fulfil this task, but she needed her professional demeanour. Because what she was now about to do required more than her private persona.
She knocked lightly on the door, not wanting to wake anyone who might be sleeping. When nothing happened and a long time had passed, she knocked a bit harder, and then she heard footsteps approaching.
Just listen. Don’t try to comfort her, just listen and be there.
She had attended several courses about how to deal with people suffering from grief.
The door opened. Monika smiled.
‘Pernilla?’
‘Yes.’
She didn’t look the way Monika had imagined. She was short and slim with short dark hair. She was dressed in grey jogging trousers and a knit jersey that was much too big.
‘My name is Monika, and I’m from the crisis group.’
‘Ah, I didn’t think anyone was coming today. They said they were short-staffed.’
Monika smiled even more broadly.
‘We worked it out.’
Pernilla left the door open and went into the flat. Monika took the first step over the threshold. She could feel it at once. Feel the relief. It was as if something was suddenly released, and for a second she was worried that it would make her weak again. Just to see Pernilla with her own eyes, form her own picture of her face and be allowed into her presence made everything easier to bear. She could accomplish something here. Make everything less unforgivable. But she had to proceed cautiously, couldn’t be in too much of a hurry; Pernilla had to be given the chance to understand that she could be trusted. That Monika was here to help her, and solve all her problems.
She hung up her coat and left her boots by the door. There were several pairs of men’s shoes there. Gym shoes and Oxfords that were much too large to fit Pernilla’s tiny feet. Left behind, never again to be needed. She passed a bathroom door with a little red ceramic heart on it and continued into the flat. The kitchen was to the right, and at the other end of the hall was an entrance towards what seemed to be the living room. She looked around carefully, not wanting to miss a single detail in her effort to get to know the woman who lived here. Her taste, her values, the sort of qualities she preferred in a friend. She would take as much time as was needed; the only hurry was to sort out the most dangerous traps. If Pernilla rejected her she would be lost.
Pernilla was sitting on the sofa, leafing through a newspaper, seemingly without interest. Daniella was nowhere to be seen. On an old chest of drawers with a stripped finish stood a burning candle in a brass candlestick, and the glow fell over his broad smile. The photograph had been enlarged and put in a glossy gold frame. Monika looked down at the floor when he met her gaze, wanting to get out of his field of vision, but his accusing eyes had a view of the whole room. There was no escape. She could feel him watching her suspiciously and questioning her presence, but she would show him; over time he would learn that she was his ally and that he could trust her. That she wouldn’t deceive him again.
Pernilla put down the newspaper on the chest of drawers and looked at her.
‘Seriously, I think we can manage by ourselves this evening. I mean if you’re short-staffed.’
‘No, there’s no danger of that. Absolutely none.’
Monika wondered uneasily what was expected of her, what the others from the crisis group had done to make themselves useful. But she couldn’t think of anything before Pernilla went on.
‘I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but, to be quite honest, it’s beginning to be a bit tiresome always having strangers here in the flat. Nothing personal, of course.’
Pernilla gave a little smile, as if to minimise her words, but the smile never reached her eyes.
‘I really think I need to be alone for a while.’
Monika smiled back to conceal her desperation. Not now, not when she was so close.
Then Pernilla threw out the lifeline that Monika so urgently needed.
‘But if you could just help me take down something in the kitchen before you go.’
Monika felt the fear subside; all she needed was a way in, a little opening to be able to demonstrate the value of her presence. She gratefully accepted the assignment.
‘Of course, no problem, what is it?’
Pernilla got up from the sofa and Monika noticed the grimace she made when her back straightened. Saw her twist her right shoulder forward in an attempt to be rid of the pain.
‘It’s the smoke alarm in the ceiling. The battery is going dead, so it keeps beeping.’
Monika followed Pernilla into the kitchen. Quickly looked around to learn some more. Mostly things from Ikea, lots of pictures and notes on the refrigerator, some ceramic objects that looked home-made, three historical portraits in simple frames over the kitchen table. She resisted the temptation to go over to the refrigerator and read the notes. That would have to come later.
Pernilla pulled out a chair and set it underneath the smoke alarm.
‘I have a problem with my back, and raising my arm above my head is simply impossible.’
Monika climbed up on the chair.
‘What sort of problem do you have with your back?’
An attempt to break the ice. They didn’t know each other. Starting now Monika would forget everything she already knew.
‘I was in an accident five years ago. A diving accident.’
Monika twisted the alarm box off the holder.
‘That sounds serious.’
‘Yes, it was, but I’m better now.’
Pernilla fell silent. Monika handed her the alarm. Pernilla picked out the battery and went over to the counter. When she opened the cupboard Monika glimpsed cleaning supplies and a pull-out recycling bin.
Pernilla turned round and Monika realised that she was expecting her to leave now that she had finished her task. But she hadn’t finished. Not by a long shot. Monika turned to the portraits on the wall.
‘What a lovely portrait of Sofia Magdalena. It was Carl Gustav Pilo who painted it, wasn’t it?’
She could see that Pernilla was surprised.
‘Yes, it could be. I’m not really sure.’
Pernilla went over to the portrait to check whether there was a signature, but apparently couldn’t find one. She turned to Monika again.
‘Are you interested in art?’
Monika smiled.
‘No, not in art particularly, but in history. Especially the history of Sweden. You pick up a few artists’ names in the process. I go through periods when I get almost fanatical about reading history books.’
Pernilla gave a little smile, and this time her eyes began to sparkle a bit.
‘How strange. I’m really interested in history too. Mattias often used that very word. That I was almost fanatical.’
Monika stood silently, relinquishing the initiative. Pernilla looked at the portrait again.
‘There’s something consoling about history. Reading about all these destinies that have come and gone. At any rate it’s helped me gain a little perspective on my own problems, I mean all the trouble with my back after the accident and all.’
Monika nodded with interest, as if she were actually following along. Following along intently. Pernilla looked down at her hands.
‘But now I don’t know.’
She paused for a moment.
‘How there could be any consolation in history, I mean. Other than that he’s dead like all the rest.’
Just listen. Don’t try to comfort her, just listen and be there.
Silence. Not only because of what she had learned in her courses, but because she couldn’t think of anything to say. She glanced furtively at the jumble on the refrigerator door. She wanted so badly to have a closer look. Try to find more ways into Pernilla’s life.