said with a laugh. ‘Anyway, it’s chicken stew with avocado and jasmine rice.’
‘Okay, it’s a deal.’
‘Nice to hear that we come up to your high standards, Mr Gourmet.’
‘We’ll see about that after I’ve tasted it.’
‘Oh, come off it,’ said Erica, and got up to start making dinner.
She felt warm inside. This had been a good day. A very good day. She turned to ask Patrik how his had been.
The good had outweighed the evil. Or had it? Sometimes, in the night when he tossed and turned with the nightmares, he wasn’t so sure. But now, in the daylight, he was utterly certain that the good had prevailed. He felt the evil only as shadows lurking in the corners, not daring to show its ugly face. And that suited him fine.
They had both loved her. So incredibly much. But perhaps he was the one who loved her more. And perhaps she had loved him more. They’d had something special. Nothing could ever come between them. What was ugly and filthy slid off them without sticking.
His sister had regarded them without jealousy. She knew that she was seeing something unique. Something that she couldn’t possibly compete with. And they included her. Swept her into their love, let her take part in it too. There was no reason to feel jealous. Being allowed into that kind of love was something granted only to a few.
It was because she loved them so boundlessly that she restricted their world. And they gratefully let themselves be restricted. Why would they need anyone else? Why should they be burdened with all the nastiness that they knew existed out there? He wouldn’t be able to cope out there. That’s what she said. He was so accident-prone. He regularly dropped things, knocked things over, broke things to bits. If she let them go out in the world, terrible things would happen. Someone who was such a klutz would never be able to manage. But she always said it so lovingly. ‘My klutz,’ she said. ‘My little klutz.’
Her love was enough for him. And it was enough for his sister. Most of the time, at least.
This whole set-up sucked. Jonna listlessly lifted the goods onto the conveyor belt so that she could read off the code. Big Brother had been a regular Hultsfred Music Festival compared to this. This sucked! Although she really couldn’t complain. She had seen earlier seasons of the show, so she knew that they would have to live and work in this dump they’d ended up in. But sitting at the checkout in a fucking ICA supermarket! She hadn’t expected that. Her only consolation was that Barbie had ended up there too. She was at the register behind Jonna’s, with her silicone boobs squeezed into the red apron. And all morning Jonna had been forced to listen to her stupid chatter and to all the customers, from immature teens with squeaky voices to disgusting old men who tried to chat up Barbie. Didn’t they get it that they didn’t have to talk to a girl like Barbie? Just buy her a couple of drinks and then it was full speed ahead. Idiots.
‘Oh, it’s going to be such fun to see you on TV. And our little town, of course. I never would have imagined that we’d be nationwide celebrities here in Tanumshede.’ The silly old woman stood preening herself in front of the checkout, occasionally giving an enchanted smile at the camera fastened to the ceiling. She was so stupid that she didn’t realize that it was the best way to ensure that she wouldn’t be used in any of the segments. Looking straight at the camera was an absolute no-no.
‘That’ll be three hundred and fifty kronor and fifty öre,’ said Jonna wearily, staring at the old lady.
‘All right, I see, yes, here’s my card,’ said the TV-obsessed woman, sliding her VISA card through the scanner. ‘And, now I have to punch in the code,’ she chirped.
Jonna sighed. She wondered whether she could get away with starting to play hooky today. The producers usually loved arguments with the casting directors and stuff like that, but maybe it was a bit early for that. She should probably just grit her teeth for a week. After that she might be able to get away with a few shenanigans.
She wondered whether Mamma and Pappa would be sitting on the sofa watching the TV on Monday. Probably not. They never had time for such trivial pastimes as watching TV. They were doctors, so their time was more valuable than everyone else’s. The time that they spent watching Survivor, or being with her for that matter, was time that could otherwise be spent doing a bypass operation or a kidney transplant. Jonna was just being selfish for not understanding that. Pappa had even taken her along to the hospital so she could watch open-heart surgery on a ten-year-old child. He wanted her to understand why their jobs were so important, he said; why they couldn’t spend as much time with her as they would like. He and Mamma had a gift, the gift of being able to help other people, and it was their obligation to put it to good use.
What a fucking load of crap. Why did they even have kids if they didn’t have time for them? Why didn’t they say to hell with kids, so that they could spend twenty-four hours a day with their hands inside somebody else’s chest?
The day after the visit to the hospital she had started cutting herself. It had been so fucking cool. As soon as the knife made the first cut in her skin, she had felt the anxiety recede. It felt like it ran out of the wound on her arm. Disappeared along with the blood that slowly trickled out, red and hot. She loved the sight of her own blood. Loved the feeling of the knife, or a razor blade or whatever the fuck else she could find within reach that would cut away the anxiety that sat so firmly anchored in her chest.
She also discovered that this was the only time they noticed her. The blood made them turn their attention to her and really see her. But the kick had proven to be less intense each time. With each wound, each scar, the effect on her anxiety diminished. And instead of looking at her with concern, as they had done at first, now her parents just looked at her with resignation. They had lost their grip on her, and decided to help those they could save instead. People with damaged hearts and internal organs that had stopped functioning and needed to be replaced. She had nothing of the sort to offer. It was her soul that was broken, and that was not something they could fix with a scalpel. So they stopped trying.
The only love now available to her was from the cameras, and the people who sat night after night in front of their television sets watching her. Seeing the real Jonna.
Behind her she heard a guy asking Barbie if he could touch her silicone implants. The viewers would love it. Jonna deliberately raised her arms so the scars were visible. It was the only way she could compete.
‘Martin, can I come in for a minute? We have to talk.’
‘Of course, come on in, I’m just finishing up some reports.’ He waved Patrik inside. ‘What is it? You look worried.’
‘Well, I’m not quite sure what to think about this. We received the autopsy report on Marit Kaspersen this morning, and I must say there’s something that seems very odd.’
‘What’s that?’ Martin leaned forward with interest. He remembered that Patrik had muttered something along those lines on the day the accident occurred, but then he’d honestly forgotten about it. Patrik hadn’t mentioned it since then either.
‘Well,
