‘How much could I borrow?’
He stood quite still. Then his hand went to his throat and tugged a little on the perfect knot of his necktie. He pulled out the drawer again and took out a form.
‘Please fill this out while I do some calculations.’
She read the paper lying on the counter. Income, length of employment, marital status, number of children to support.
She took a pen and started filling in the information.
Her gaze settled on the hand holding the pen, and suddenly she didn’t recognise it. She recognised the ring she had bought for herself and saw that her fingers were making the motions she was telling them to do, but the hand seemed somehow separate, as if it belonged to someone else’s body.
‘You can borrow three hundred thousand more on the equity in your property.’
He had gone over the completed form and familiarised himself with what else he needed to know, and now he placed a loan proposal on the counter in front of her. She had seen him talking with one of his colleagues. Noticed that during the conversation they had looked at her a few times, but she didn’t care. It was strange how unmoved it all left her. But three hundred thousand wasn’t enough. She needed more, and she slid his proposal back across the counter.
‘How much can I borrow beyond this amount?’
She could see that he hesitated. She sensed his anxiety and was perfectly aware that she was the cause of it, but it didn’t faze her. She had a mission to fulfil and he had nothing to do with it.
And what should she do with her money if she didn’t even have the right to be alive?
‘It’s easier if we know what you will be using the money for. I mean, if, for example, you want to buy a house or a car, it would be much easier for us to grant a loan.’
‘But that’s not what I’m going to do. I’m quite pleased with my BMW.’
Her hand again. It looked different. And the words she heard herself saying were unfamiliar too.
‘I can see here that you have an excellent income and… you’re a doctor… and your ability to repay the loan is undeniably excellent. And only one child to support.’
He hesitated.
‘Wait just a moment, I’ll consult my colleague.’
He strode through the bank. She looked at the paper she had filled out.
She had at least been honest, obviously, and put down her obligation to support Daniella.
But only one child to support.
He was an idiot.
He was conferring with the woman she had said hello to when she came in. That was good. She presumably knew all about Monika’s spotless past. There were no payment problems; in all those years she had never paid a bill late. She had always been a conscientious citizen, no one could complain on that score. It wasn’t actually possible to accuse her of that defect any longer, the one that sat inside her but couldn’t be seen, because she had once and for all decided to atone for it. She would sacrifice everything she had ever wanted and subjugate herself. What more could she be expected to do? In order to get back the right to exist.
She didn’t notice that he had returned until she heard him speaking to her.
‘We can issue an unsecured loan for another two hundred thousand in view of the amount you usually save.’
He picked up his pen and calculated quickly. Nine hundred and fifty-three thousand, five hundred. It wasn’t really enough but apparently it was all she could manage at present. It would have to do. Pernilla would at least be able to pay off her loan. And Monika herself could continue to help with whatever she could.
‘Okay. I’ll take it in the same cashier’s check.’
‘In what name?’
She thought for a moment. The tax authorities might be interested.
‘Put it in mine.’
Her agitation increased with each step as she approached. With each intersection the accelerator seemed harder to press down. She had to force herself to drive in through the gates to the clinic grounds and further to the parking lot. Someone had had the audacity to take her parking space, and she angrily jotted down the licence number on a parking receipt. She would find out who the owner of that car was and personally ring and tell him off. Or her. She realised that it might even feel good. To be able to take it out on someone. Someone who had done wrong. To be able to say what a bloody idiot he or she was and be fully justified in taking the upper hand.
She parked her car in the next space and hurried towards the entrance. The red brick façade loomed before her. This had been her refuge, giving purpose to her life, but now she felt nothing. Everything associated with this building now stood in the way of what she needed to devote herself to. She had to drive to Pernilla’s and see how she was doing today. Whether she was feeling bad after all the wine she drank. Find out whether there was anything she could do. The distaste increased with each step she took towards the entrance, and by the time she managed to place her hand on the handle of the entry door she realised that it would be impossible. That familiar shape. The hand that instantly felt at home and tried to send impulses to the Monika who was usually there but who was no longer accessible.
You have sworn upon your honour that you in your work as a physician shall strive to serve your fellow man with humanity and respect for life as a guiding principle. Your goal shall be to preserve and promote health, to prevent illness, and to cure the sick and alleviate their suffering.
Only two people had the right to demand that of her. Only those two to whom she was indebted. They were the only ones.
Suddenly she felt ill. She backed up a few steps and then turned and ran back to her car. Behind locked doors she let her gaze sweep across the façade to make sure that no one had seen her from any of the windows. Without checking behind her properly she backed out of the parking space and almost collided with the ticket machine. Then she continued out the gates going much too fast, but when she had gone some distance she pulled over to the kerb and stopped. She took out her mobile and punched in the letters.
‘Taking one more week’s leave of absence. Best wishes, Monika L.’
Message sent.
It took only a minute before the phone rang. She recognised the head of the clinic’s number on the display but stuffed the mobile back in her handbag. A minute later the beeps sounded, telling her he had left a message.
Pernilla and Daniella were out in the playground when she parked outside their building. She could see them from the car, and she sat there, watching them. It felt good to sit there in secret and still be able to keep them under supervision. For once to have control even when Pernilla was nearby. To be spared subjecting herself to her moods and having to watch each word carefully in fear of being sent away. She sat there for a long time. Watching Daniella swing back and forth, back and forth. Pernilla was pushing her, but with her gaze turned in another direction, out into empty nothingness.
Dinner yesterday. All the intolerable things Pernilla had said. If they could meet somewhere else it would certainly be easier. Somewhere Mattias’s presence was not so obvious. Where Pernilla and Monika could have the chance to be in peace with their tentative friendship. And then she decided. It would be better for them to meet at her place instead. Where there was no admittance to Mattias.
She started the car and drove back into town.
She drove past Olsson’s antiquarian bookshop. She had seen them that morning but hadn’t really registered what they were until she suddenly remembered now. They were hanging in the display window, two historical pictures in simple gold frames. One of them was a map from Sweden’s glory days and the other was a lithograph of Karl XIV Johan’s coronation. She bought them for twelve hundred kronor and then continued on to the Emmaus Secondhand Shop. They had several ceramic objects that looked home-made, and none of the ones she picked would make Pernilla feel inferior.