case that meant she would have to play the shrinking violet for a couple of interminable weeks, even though she wanted to creep into his room and slip into his bed that very first evening. But she knew he would have been scared off by such behaviour. If she wanted to win him she would have to play the game. Whore or madonna. She could give men both.
‘Are you frightened?’ he asked her as she sat next to him on his narrow bed.
She forced back a smile. If he knew how well-versed she was in what was now about to take place, he would be the one shaking with alarm. But she couldn’t show her true self. Not now, when for the first time she wanted a man as much as he wanted her. So she looked down at the floor and just nodded feebly. When he tried to reassure her by putting his arms around her, she couldn’t help smiling against his shoulder.
Then she sought out his mouth with her own. When the kiss deepened and got serious, she felt him carefully unbuttoning her blouse. He moved at a devastatingly slow pace. She wanted to grab hold of her blouse and tear it off. Yet she knew that would destroy the image that she had spent weeks creating. Soon enough she’d be able to show the passionate side of her nature, but by then he’d be able to credit himself with having enticed her. Men were so simple.
When the last piece of clothing fell, she pulled the covers modestly over herself. Anders caressed her hair and looked into her eyes, silently asking her permission. Then he waited for her affirmative nod before he crept in beside her.
‘Could you blow out the candle?’ she asked, making her voice sound tiny and frightened.
‘Yes, of course, absolutely,’ he said, embarrassed that he hadn’t realized she might prefer the cover of darkness. He reached towards the nightstand and pinched off the flame with his fingers. In the dark she felt him turn towards her and, unbearably slowly, begin to explore her body.
At precisely the right moment she let out a whimper of feigned pain, hoping that he wouldn’t take the absence of blood as a telltale sign. But judging from his tender solicitude afterwards, he had no suspicions, and she felt satisfied with her performance. Since she’d had to stifle her natural instincts, it had been somewhat more boring than she’d expected, but the potential was there. Soon she’d be able to blossom in a way that would be a pleasant surprise for him.
Lying in the hollow of his arm, she thought about whether she might cautiously initiate a second round, but decided she’d better wait a while. For the time being she would have to be content at having played her part well. She had him right where she wanted him. Now it was merely a question of recouping the maximum dividend from all the time she’d invested in him. If she played her cards right, she could look forward to an entertaining pastime this winter.
8
Monica went round with her cart, replacing books on the shelves. She had loved books her whole life. Having almost died of boredom the first year at home after Kaj sold the business, she had seized the opportunity when she heard that the library needed someone to help out part-time. Kaj thought she was barmy, working when she didn’t need to, and she suspected that he considered it a loss of prestige for him. But she was enjoying herself too much to care. There was a good atmosphere at work, and she needed some feeling of community to see any meaning in her life. Kaj had grown more and more short-tempered and grumpy with each passing year, and Morgan didn’t need her any more. There probably weren’t going to be any grandchildren either; in any case she thought it highly unlikely. Even that joy had been denied her. She couldn’t help feeling a consuming envy when the others at work talked about their grandchildren. The light in their eyes made Monica shrink inside with jealousy. Not that she didn’t love Morgan. She did, even though he hadn’t made it easy for them to love him. And she believed that he loved her too. He just didn’t know how to show it. Maybe he didn’t even know that what he felt was called love.
It had taken many years before they understood that there was something wrong with him. Or rather, they knew that something wasn’t as it should be, but there was nothing in their experience that jibed with what they observed in Morgan. He wasn’t mentally challenged, but instead extremely intelligent for his age. She didn’t think that he was autistic, because he didn’t withdraw inside his shell and had no aversion to being touched – all reactions that were often associated with autism, according to what she’d read. Morgan had gone to school long before ADHD and DAMP became household words, so such diagnoses had never even been considered. And yet Monica realized that something wasn’t quite right. He behaved strangely and seemed resistant to any guidance. He simply didn’t seem to comprehend the invisible communication between people, and the rules that governed social intercourse were like Hebrew to him. He kept doing and saying the wrong thing, and Monica knew that people whispered behind her back, assuming that her son’s behaviour was due to lax discipline on her part. But she knew that it was more than that. Even his motor skills were erratic. He kept causing mishaps both big and small, because of his clumsiness. Sometimes the accidents weren’t even accidents but something he did on purpose. That was what worried her most, that it seemed impossible to teach him the difference between right and wrong. They had tried everything: punishment, bribery, threats and promises, all the tools that parents use to instil a conscience in their children. But nothing had worked. Morgan could do the most awful things without showing any remorse when he was discovered.
But fifteen years earlier they’d had an improbable stroke of luck. One of the many teachers they had visited over the years had a real passion for his profession, and he read everything he could find about new research in the field. One day he told them that he’d discovered a diagnosis that fitted Morgan’s condition: Asperger’s syndrome. A form of autism, but with normal to high intelligence in the patient. The burden of all those years of hardship seemed to lift from Monica’s shoulders the minute she heard the term for the first time. She had tasted it, rolled it around on her tongue with pleasure: Asperger’s. It wasn’t something they had simply imagined, nor were they at fault in failing to bring up their child properly. She had been right that it was difficult if not impossible for Morgan to comprehend what made daily life so much easier for everyone else: body language, facial expressions, and implicit meanings. None of this registered in Morgan’s brain. For the first time they were finally able to offer him serious help. Or rather she was. To be honest, Kaj hadn’t been particularly involved with Morgan. Not since he coldly stated that his son would never live up to his expectations. After that, Morgan had become Monica’s boy. So it was she who read everything she could find about Asperger’s and developed some basic tools that would help her son get through the day. Little cards that described various scenarios and how one was supposed to behave, role-playing games in which they practised various situations, and conversations to try and get him to understand intellectually what his brain refused to assimilate intuitively. She also took great pains to speak clearly with Morgan. To clear away all the metaphors, exaggerations and figures of speech that people used in order to give colour and meaning to language. To a large degree, she had been successful. At least he had learned to function tolerably in the world, but he still kept mostly to himself. With his computers.
That was why Lilian Florin had managed to transform Monica’s vague sense of irritation into hatred. She was able to put up with everything else. She didn’t give a damn about building codes and infringements and threats about one thing and another. As far as she was concerned, Kaj was just as much to blame in the feud, and she even believed that he sometimes enjoyed it. But the fact that Lilian had gone after Morgan, time after time, had aroused the ferocity of a tigress in Monica. Just because her son was different it seemed to give Lilian, and many others for that matter, a free hand to mock him. God forbid that anyone should be the least bit different. The mere fact that he still lived, if not at home, then on the same lot as his parents, grated on many people. But none of them was as malicious as Lilian. Some of the accusations she concocted made Monica so angry that she
