and we know exactly what hurts the most. Our society is completely obsessed with appearance, and there’s no better way to break a woman than to say that she’s ugly.”
“How do you break a guy, then?” Katarina asked, gruffly.
“Say with a voice as sweet as honey,” Irene volunteered before her husband had a chance to reply, “that he has the world’s cutest tiny little dick. And the fact that he’s a terrible lover is something he can probably fix, if only he’s willing to get help. And then you finish with a beaming smile and add that there’s always Viagra.”
Both Krister and Katarina started laughing, and Irene’s mood improved.
Krister walked over to the stove and poured boiling water through the tea strainer. The coffee had already finished percolating. He opened the refrigerator.
“Anyone else want an egg?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he put four eggs in a pot, filled it with water, and turned on the burner. Then he said to Katarina, “For once, I think you really should listen to your mother. As I said, men can be real jerks; but as you just saw, women can be, too. It usually evens out in the end.”
Katarina opened her mouth to reply, but quickly closed it. She scrutinized her parents, and then said, “Okay. Can we eat breakfast without discussing this any more?”
Her parents nodded and exchanged a look of agreement.
IRENE PHONED Rebecka Schyttelius after they had finished their weekly marketing at Frölunda Torg. The phone rang several times, and she was about to hang up when a man’s voice answered, in English. “Yes?”
Irene was nervous about having to speak English over the phone. Hesitantly, she said, in her stilted English, “Excuse me. I’m looking for Rebecka Schyttelius, but maybe I have the wrong number?”
The man laughed softly. “Not at all. This is Rebecka’s number, but she’s not home right now. Who am I speaking with?”
At first Irene couldn’t remember what her title was in English. When she had finally managed to introduce herself, there was another moment of silence on the line before the man replied, “I understand. Another police officer from Göteborg called for her a few days ago.... She’s been taken to the hospital again. The shock she received was terrible, and it’s only been a short while since she found out ... the horrific news. But I’ve spoken with her doctor, and he says that she might be allowed to come home on Monday.”
Irene thought for a moment before she asked, “May I ask who you are?”
“Christian Lefévre. Rebecka works for my company.”
“The computer company?”
“Yes.”
And what are you doing in Rebecka’s apartment? Irene was about to ask, but she refrained. Maybe it would be best to ask Rebecka first. She also noted the man’s French name, but it seemed to her that he spoke English without an accent.
“Could you tell Rebecka that I called?”
“Of course.”
Irene gave him her numbers: work, home, and cell. Then she hung up.
THEY HAD purchased a lot of good food and were preparing for a cozy evening. Krister was actually scheduled to work this weekend; but his colleague, Lenny, needed the following weekend off, so they had traded.
Jenny had disappeared early that afternoon to rehearse with her band. Before the front door closed behind her, she had informed them that she was staying at Martin’s.
“Who’s Martin?” Irene had called after her but only got the echo of her own question in reply.
Katarina shrugged when she was asked that question a little while later.
“Don’t know. They’ve been seeing each other for a while. I think he’s a musician.”
It was a guess that Irene could have made herself.
Irene dialed Jenny’s cell number and demanded to be told Martin’s full name, address, and telephone number. It was a condition for spending the night somewhere. The alternative was to be collected by the police; in plain words, by a detective inspector: in even plainer words, Mom. Irene reacted when she heard the address. Apartments in that neighborhood were not cheap. It seemed Martin was a boy with rich parents.
Katarina left for a classmate’s who was having a party. Aside from the clattering of the pots and pans and other kitchen utensils that the master chef used when he created, the peace of the weekend fell over the family home. Irene took Sammie out on an evening walk so she wouldn’t be in the way. When she returned, she would set the table. Maybe Krister would, mercifully, let her fix the salad. She didn’t complain