Trapped, page 43
The girl took one and closed her eyes as she took her first sip.
‘Aren’t you a bit young to like coffee?’ said Mina.
‘We lived in Italy when I was little. Kids learn how to drink coffee there when they’re young. I love cappuccino, but I hate disgusting filter coffee that’s been stewing for too long. Isn’t that what you cops drink all day long?’
The girl laughed but not in an unpleasant way.
‘Sadly, that’s all too true,’ said Mina.
A waitress listlessly retrieved the dirty crockery that had been left on their table.
‘I’m considering becoming a police officer too,’ the girl said cheerily, and a big gulp of hot coffee caught in Mina’s throat.
She stared at the girl.
‘Why?’
The girl hesitated.
‘Well … My mum was killed in a hit-and-run when I was little. Probably a drink driver, according to Dad. And they’ve never caught the person who did it. It’s not right. I want to work on stuff like that.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Mina.
‘Well, I don’t have to decide what I’m going to be yet,’ the girl continued. ‘But it’s one of the options I’m considering. Or maybe I’ll be an influencer. Spend hours getting the perfect photo of the cherry blossom here in Kungsträdgården.’
The girl pointed towards the trees, which had long ago lost their hot pink colour and were instead perfectly ordinary, not particularly photogenic trees. She pulled a mobile phone out of her rucksack. She quickly checked something on it and then put it back in her bag.
‘Someone worried about you?’ said Mina.
‘Meh, it’s just Dad. He’s, well, he’s a bit … over-protective. But he needs to chill out.’
‘When you have my job, you understand why parents are over-protective.’
‘Yeah, you must see a lot of shit,’ the girl noted coolly while drinking more cappuccino.
Some of the foam stuck to her upper lip and Mina had to stifle the urge to lean forward and wipe it off.
She didn’t ask the girl’s name. She already knew it. But in order to avoid compromising herself, she always called her ‘the girl’ in her head.
‘Most of all I’d like to be one of those investigating police officers. Not one that drives around town in a police car looking for crackheads. But I’ve heard you have to do a few years on the street first. Is that right? I’m honestly not sure whether I’d dare.’
‘Yes, yes, that’s what it’s like right now,’ said Mina, nodding. ‘But they’re thinking about changing it. Precisely for that reason. The force risks missing out on people who are good at investigating but aren’t interested in or built to deal with life on the street as a police officer.’
‘Did you manage?’ the girl said, looking at her with curiosity.
Mina considered how to respond. She contemplated whether to be honest about what it had been like. Not the hassle or the hours or the fear – all the things that new graduates grappled with. But her own demons. The dirt, the environments she couldn’t control, the pressure to hide her own characteristics from her colleagues, not to be seen as weird. It was important to belong. The group, your colleagues, were what might make the difference between life and death when decisions had to be made in a split second.
‘I managed,’ was all she said.
There was far too much she would have to explain. It was easier not to explain at all.
‘I want to give you something,’ the girl said suddenly, taking off one of the countless necklaces she was wearing. ‘As a thank you.’
‘There’s no need – I was only doing my job,’ Mina protested.
The girl held out a necklace with a black pendant on it.
‘But you’re nice,’ said the girl. ‘Not everyone in the world is. This pendant is magnetic.’
‘Magnetic?’
‘Apparently it’s good for your body. Something to do with red blood cells. Well, I don’t know. But I’d like you to have it.’
Mina wanted nothing more than to accept it, but if she hadn’t already broken all the rules she was definitely about to. At the same time, she could hardly say no. At least the necklace didn’t look like it had cost too much.
‘Magnetic, you say?’ she said, taking the item. ‘Thank you. It means more than you can imagine.’
She tried to avoid showing how close to tears she was as she put it around her neck. It was probably just her imagination, but she could feel the pendant warming her ribcage like a small sun. She cupped her hand around it.
‘And what about training to be a police officer then?’ she said.
‘I’ll have to see,’ the girl said, draining the last of her cappuccino. ‘Like I said, I’ve still got time.’
Mina saw a movement out of the corner of her eye. A man had come up to their table and taken a firm grip on the girl’s arm. She didn’t protest – she simply stood up. But the look she gave Mina was one of resignation.
‘Bye, it was nice meeting you,’ said the girl, turning around together with the man and leaving.
Mina also began to stand up, but a firm hand on her shoulder made her sit down again. Another man had approached from behind. He moved around the table and sat down opposite her, where the girl had been sitting. He had a nondescript appearance. Shorts and T-shirt, trainers with the ubiquitous swoosh, a Daniel Wellington wristwatch. But Mina knew better than to allow herself to be deceived by his appearance.
The man said nothing, merely producing an iPhone and passing it over. Mina knew who was going to be on the line, whose voice she was going to hear for the first time in many years. She had known what the consequences of making contact were. But what was she meant to have done? She was a police officer, after all.
She listened silently to the voice.
She said nothing, offered no reply.
When she handed back the phone, her hand was shaking heavily. The man took the phone, still without saying a word, and left. Mina stayed seated. She was trembling so much that she was afraid she would fall over if she stood up.
99
Kvibille 1982
He’d just come down from upstairs and was heading into the kitchen when there was a knock on the front door. Two knocks. He stopped mid-step, glued to the spot. At first he wondered whether his ears were deceiving him – they almost never had anyone knocking on the door. But he could see the shadow of a person through the frosted glass by the front door.
It wasn’t Mum – he knew that. And Jane wasn’t due home for a while. He became worried. He wanted to ask them to leave; he didn’t need anyone. If he didn’t budge an inch then perhaps whoever it was would give up and go away.
More knocking. Three knocks this time. And then a man’s voice.
‘Hello?’
The man had obviously heard the creaking stairs as he’d come down them. There was nothing else to be done. He was careful not to open the door wider than the space that allowed him to block the opening by standing in it.
‘Hello, young man,’ said Allan, standing on the porch steps. ‘I didn’t know whether you’d heard me.’
Allan from the timber merchant’s. Mum’s friend. Whom he’d called an hour ago – a conversation he had completely forgotten about. It might as well have been two weeks ago. Time wasn’t behaving in its usual fashion.
Allan took off his green and yellow cap with the BP logo on it and wiped his sweaty brow. On the step beside him were two supermarket carrier bags brimming with food.
‘I think I’ve got everything you asked for,’ said Allan. ‘Even though there was a lot. So your mum’s that unwell, is she?’
‘Yes, she can barely talk. That’s why I had to call. Here. This should cover it.’
He handed over two one-hundred-kronor notes and Allan put them in his trouser pocket.
‘But who’s going to take care of you then?’ said Allan with a troubled expression. ‘Have you called the doctor to ask him to come here? Maybe I should see how she’s doing – check whether I should pick up anything from the chemist in Halmstad or whatever.’
He wedged his foot against the door as Allan placed his hand on the door handle.
‘She’s sleeping right now,’ he said, coughing. ‘And … what if you get infected? You shouldn’t even be close to me.’
Allan nodded and removed his hand. He mopped his brow again.
‘You’re quite right,’ he said. ‘I’m on my own at the yard this week and I’ve got loads to do. Can’t afford to get sick. But at least let me carry the bags inside. You shouldn’t have to do that yourself.’
‘Thanks,’ he said, stepping out of the doorway to avoid being in the way. ‘They’re going in there.’
He pointed towards the kitchen and Allan picked up the amply filled carrier bags with a grunt. A green apple fell out of one and rolled across the hall floor. He stared at the apple and put his hands to his stomach to ensure the rumbling couldn’t be heard. It had been far too long since he’d eaten anything. Allan returned to the hall, picked up the apple and stopped by the foot of the stairs.
‘You’re sure she’s sleeping up there?’
He nodded with his hand still at his stomach.
‘OK,’ said Allan, giving him the apple. ‘Tell her I hope she gets better soon. And call me if you need anything else.’
He stayed in the doorway watching Allan leave until he was sure he wasn’t coming back. Only then did he sink his teeth into the apple. Then he went inside and made sure to lock the door behind him.
Two of the things he’d asked Allan to buy were toothpaste and dental floss. He took out the boxes and put them on the table. Mum was always particular about ensuring you brushed your teeth for two minutes. He’d put on the watch he’d been given for Christmas so that he could count the seconds on it.
Two minutes. He didn’t know what happened if you brushed for too long and he didn’t want to know either. The dental floss was trickier. He couldn’t remember whether he should use it before or after brushing. What had Mum said?
Before seemed more plausible.
Or was it after?
Oh no. He’d got into a muddle. Even though he was so careful. But two minutes was one hundred and twenty seconds. 12 + 0 = 12. He would use twelve centimetres of floss at bedtime. Then everything would be fine.
Mum’s routines were important.
We are what we usually do, she always said.
He needed to remember what she usually did.
100
Aston came running in at top speed with a mobile phone.
‘Dad, I crash in the race when it rings!’ he whined.
Vincent dropped the ladle into the boiling pan of macaroni and liberated his mobile from his son’s grasp before Aston had time to lob it across the room.
‘Turn it off,’ Aston shouted. ‘I’m playing Asphalt 9 on the phone!’
‘Not now you’re not,’ said Vincent, gesturing at his son to indicate that he should go and bother his mother instead.
The display showed that it was Mina. Finally. He hadn’t managed to get hold of her all weekend. She hadn’t answered any of his messages. He once again had to remind himself that the psychological spotlight effect – which made everybody believe that they were the cause of far more events than they actually were – also applied to him. But he still couldn’t drop the thought that she’d been avoiding him on purpose.
‘Hi, Mina,’ he said as he heard Aston throw himself onto Maria with a hoot.
His son immediately became embroiled in a tickling match with his mum on the floor. Aston appeared to have the upper hand.
He turned back to the hob and began stirring the macaroni again while also turning the sliced sausages in the frying pan. They had almost stuck to the bottom. The line was silent.
‘Mina, are you there?’
He could hear her breathing. But it was in fits and starts. It almost sounded as if she were … crying? He lowered his voice so that it was almost drowned out by the extractor fan.
‘Has something happened?’ he asked carefully.
It was now clear that Mina was crying. But the abrupt sobs revealed that she was struggling to regain control of her voice. He waited, letting her gather herself. The pan of macaroni boiled over without him reacting.
‘I’m here,’ he said. ‘There’s no rush.’
It was incredibly uncomfortable to hear Mina cry. He had always struggled to deal with such strong expressions of emotion – he’d never known how to behave. But this was worse than usual. Mina was always so collected, so exact. Focused. Hearing her lose control was like spying on something far too private. Something that no one was ever meant to see. The fact that she had called anyway presumably indicated how serious it was.
The water from the pan was spreading over the induction hob. The safety mechanism reacted, cutting power to the rings. Which was fortunate, given that the sausages in the frying pan were starting to burn.
‘I’m not feeling so good,’ she said at last, words coming in the same fits and starts as the crying. ‘I haven’t been able to eat or sleep all weekend.’
‘Do you mean literally or metaphorically?’
‘Literally. I’ve been awake for seventy-two hours. Longer. I’m so sad. I don’t know what to do any longer.’
Water dripped off the hob and reached his feet. Only when it scalded his toes did Vincent realize he had transformed dinner into a minor disaster. He didn’t even dare look at the sausages. But dinner was the least of his worries right now.
‘I’m coming now,’ he said. ‘Are you at home? I’ll be there in half an hour. Don’t do anything for the time being – just stay where you are and don’t move from that spot.’
He didn’t say why, didn’t say he was terrified of what she might get up to before he got there.
‘OK,’ said Mina, in a voice that didn’t quite carry.
She didn’t even feel up to disagreeing. But he got the door code out of her.
Vincent looked down at the wet floor. He really ought to deal with this. But it would have to keep for later.
Rebecka stuck her head out of her bedroom.
‘Dad, what the hell are you doing?’ she said. ‘There’s a burnt stench all the way to my room.’
‘Rebecka – good,’ he said, quickly wiping down the hob with a cloth. ‘You’ll have to carry on making dinner – I’ve got to do something.’
‘But I … what? Argh!’
Rebecka threw up her hands in a gesture of resignation but came into the kitchen anyway.
‘I’m going to buy pizza,’ she said, after inspecting the catastrophe. ‘Transfer the money to me. You do know the floor is wet, right?’
Vincent pulled out his mobile and sent the money to Rebecka. Then he fetched his laptop.
‘What are you doing?’ said Maria, getting up from the floor with Aston clinging to her legs. ‘Who called?’
He hesitated. Then he took a deep breath. This wasn’t going to be taken well.
‘It was Mina. Something’s happened. I have to go there and comfort her.’
He pulled up Google and did a hasty search.
‘You must be joking. Are you winding me up?’ said Maria in a shrill voice. ‘Comfort? Doesn’t she have anyone else she can call? It’s bloody Sunday night, Vincent!’
He focused on the computer.
Maria hadn’t heard how Mina sounded.
‘But she called me,’ he said. ‘So it’s my responsibility.’
He looked at his wife, who had pointedly crossed her arms.
‘Maria, I was genuinely worried,’ he said. ‘You should have heard her.’
‘Well, why don’t you just go then? If you insist on being her knight in shining armour riding in on a white stallion?’
‘White? The Toyota’s red …’
‘For goodness’ sake. Sometimes …’ Maria muttered with a shake of her head.
‘This has nothing to do with chivalry,’ he said. ‘Someone close to me is in a potentially dangerous situation, physically and mentally. I seem to be the only person who knows about it and that means I’m the only one who can help. So in purely rational terms, I must. I need to make sure it wasn’t because I did something wrong,’ he said, turning the laptop to show her.
He had clicked on a Wikipedia page titled How to comfort a friend.
‘Are you kidding?’ Maria said with disgust. ‘How Aspie are you? You need to google it to figure out how to comfort someone? Normal people just know that kind of thing. You say “I’m here for you if you need anything”. That’s the most important thing. Do you really have no genuine empathy?’
She had misunderstood. As usual. He hadn’t googled to fake empathy, but precisely because he was empathetic. He wasn’t in the slightest bit convinced that things you ‘just knew’ were always right. There were so many of those stupid things. Everyone ‘knew’ that children couldn’t swim for an hour after eating because they’d get cramp. Which was a straight lie fabricated by overstuffed parents who wanted an hour off. And everyone ‘just knew’ that food became less nutritious in a microwave. More nonsense. Of course, he wasn’t immune to such fallacies. Mina meant far too much for him to dare taking the risk. But how was he meant to explain that to Maria?
‘I’m not used to comforting adults,’ he said. ‘And I don’t want to make the situation even worse. So I wanted to see whether there were mistakes I should avoid. Like this.’
Vincent read aloud from the site:
‘One common mistake is the phrase “I’m here for you, let me know if there’s anything you need”. The problem with this is that it is too general. The person you are comforting is suddenly required to work out themselves how you can help. Instead, you should be specific. Explain how you can help and propose that you clean or cook or sleep over.’
‘Sleep over,’ said Maria, pursing her lips. ‘Thought as much.’
He sighed deeply. As usual, she had completely missed the point.
‘Do you know what?’ Maria said bitterly. ‘Don’t bother coming home afterwards.’
Vincent frowned. She didn’t want him to sleep over. But he wasn’t allowed to come home. Good God. How was he to understand the logic of women?
