At him.

'Listen to yourself. Listen to what you're saying. Poor little rejected Henrik. It's such a fucking shame!'

He didn't reply.

He had lost her.

She went over and opened the cabin door. The sharp glare from the fluorescent lights in the hallway blinded him. All that was left of her was a black silhouette.

'You're never going to be ready, Henrik. If I were you I'd spend my time finding out who I am and what I actually want to do with my life. Then you can go out and involve others in your future.'

He swallowed. The lump in his throat wouldn't go away.

'Now go.'

He couldn't recall the last time he had felt so nervous. The enormous bouquet of roses on the seat next to him suddenly looked grotesque, like a foolish prop in an even more foolish film. It was just after ten in the morning, and he was grateful that he would have the day alone at home so he could collect himself before she came home from work. He hadn't called to tell her that he was returning a day early.

He was close now. Close to home. But he had never felt so far away. He cursed at a badly parked old Mazda that stood halfway out in the road just before the right turn into his street. With one hand on the wheel he manoeuvred his way past and in the next moment he saw his house.

Her car was in the driveway.

Why wasn't she at work?

And then the next thought.

Maybe she wasn't alone inside. Maybe she had made sure to bring home her lover now that Henrik was out of the way for a few days, show him their home, what she had to offer in the way of material assets. The thought disgusted him as much as it scared him. He stood alone now while there were two of them. And he was the one who would have to leave the house, she was the one who had the financial wherewithal to buy him out. And then that other bastard would move into his house, get to enjoy all the hard work he had done to fix it up. Fuck. And she who had been so understanding. Suggested maybe he should go away for a few days and think. I'll take care of everything here at home in the meantime, it's quite all right, the main thing is that you feel good again. I'm here if you need me, I always will be. Maybe I've been poor at showing it, but I'll try to improve.

How was it possible to be so cold and calculating, all to get rid of him for a few days so she could fuck her lover in peace. Who was she really, this woman he had lived with for almost fifteen years? Did he know her at all?

And the trip she had paid for. And the champagne. Had it all been to assuage her guilty conscience?

He opened the car door, took the bouquet of roses and climbed out. If she had seen him through a window he couldn't very well retreat now. But what would he do if the other man was in the house?

He took his time after he put the key in the door. Made as much noise as possible to give them time to interrupt whatever they were doing. A bedroom drama was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now. He put his bag down on the hall floor and looked around for strange shoes or coats without finding any.

Her voice from upstairs.

'Hello?'

Instinctively he hid the bouquet behind his back.

'It's only me.'

Her steps across the floor upstairs and then her feet, legs and finally all of her visible halfway down the stairs, where she stopped. The expression on her face was hard to read, maybe surprised, maybe annoyed.

'I thought you weren't coming back until tomorrow night.'

'No, I know. I changed my mind.'

He swallowed his impulse to ask if she was lonely, his need to know.

They stood there looking at each other, neither of them ready to take the next step. The bouquet burned in his hand, suddenly so embarrassing that he wanted to back out and toss it away before it was discovered.

It was impossible to determine what he actually felt when he saw her. Only a desire to be able to go up the stairs in peace and quiet, sink down in their sofa and let everything be normal. Decide who was going to pick up Axel at day-care, where he would be able to drive without having a stomach ache, and then eat a normal Tuesday dinner together. Ask how Axel was doing, whether anyone had called and where she had put his mail and whether they should rent a movie that evening. But there was a mountain between them. And how he was going to get over that mountain he had no idea. Even less what might be waiting for him on the other side.

'Why aren't you at work?'

He hadn't meant to sound like he was snooping, but he could hear that it sounded like an accusation. And it was more than clear that she was searching for a suitable answer, since she didn't really have one.

'My throat is a little sore.'

She said it on her way back up the stairs, without looking at him. And he knew she was lying. When she was gone he put down the bouquet and quickly took off his jacket, looked at himself in the hall mirror and ran his fingers through his hair. He couldn't remember the last time he had bought her flowers, or whether he had ever done so before. But if he were to be successful with what he had decided to do, then he would have to try and overcome the distaste he felt. He had one single goal, but his feelings were fighting for space inside of him. Anger, fear, confusion, decisiveness.

He took the bouquet and went up the stairs.

She was standing by the kitchen table stacking up sheets of paper. A calculator and a pen. The folder they got from the real estate agent where she put all the bills and loan papers related to the house.

The fear again. Stronger than the anger.

'What are you doing?'

She didn't have time to answer. She looked up at him and saw the blood-red bouquet. Stood there mute and stared at it as if she were trying to identify what it signified. And then, finally, after an uncomfortable pause when all he felt was his own heart pounding, she finally managed to grasp what the bouquet was.

'Did someone send you flowers?'

'No, they're for you.'

He held the bouquet out to her but she didn't move. Not a hint of a reaction. Everything felt hollow. Not a move to step forward and take them. Her indifference made him suddenly feel so embarrassed that it was too much for him, and he wanted to scream out all his accusations right in her face. Crush that false mask devoid of feeling that she hid behind and force her down on her knees. Make her confess. But he had to be smarter than that to manage all this.

He swallowed.

'Shall I put them in water?'

His words got her moving, and she went to the cupboard over the refrigerator where she kept the vases, hesitated briefly when she couldn't reach them, and went back to the kitchen table to get a chair. She didn't say thank you when he handed her the bouquet. Didn't look at him either. Just took the flowers from his hands, turned and went to the sink. He stood looking at her back as she slowly and carefully clipped the ends off the roses and arranged them one by one in the vase.

Perhaps she had already made her decision and stood there preparing herself. Perhaps she would turn around soon and tell him the truth, that she had made up her mind while he was gone. Admit that she had met another man and wanted to live with him instead. He had to forestall her, make her understand that he was ready to fight for what they had, that he would change if she just gave him a chance. He had to make her understand that her decision was based on false assumptions.

He suddenly felt like crying, going over and throwing his arms around her. Stand close behind her and tell her the truth. Once and for all get rid of all the lies and, with them out of the way, be able to feel close to her again. When had they stopped talking to each other? Had they ever been able to talk the way he and Linda had done? Why had it been so easy with her and not with Eva? They had known each other for fifteen years, after all. She knew more about him than anyone else. He couldn't stand not having her friendship any more. They shared far too many memories. And they shared Axel.

Dear Eva. I'm sorry. Forgive me.

It didn't happen. It was a superhuman task to give voice to the words, to admit his infidelity and his lies even though she was no better herself. He refused to expose himself that way, or at least he didn't intend to do it before he had some idea how she would react, whether she intended to reject him or not. But he had to try to approach her, he was in a hurry now, he had to try to reach her before it was too late. Before she turned around and announced her decision.

'I've missed you.'

She didn't turn around but her hand stopped halfway between the sink and the vase.

He could hear how strange the words sounded. As if even the room were reacting. It was so long since anything like that had been said within these walls, and he wondered whether what he said was true. Was it longing for her he had felt? In the strict sense of the word. Yes, it was. The longing for her loyalty.

'I've been thinking while I was away, as you told me to do, and I would like to beg your forgiveness for being so disagreeable lately. And then I got to thinking of that trip you booked to Iceland. I would very much like it if we went on it together.'

Her hand was once again moving between the sink and the vase.

'I cancelled it.'

'We can book another one. I can do it.'

Eager, bordering on desperation. A wild attempt to break through, get a first response that would point out what way they were heading. And he hated the fact that he was once again subject to her will, her decision. In a second he was re-acclimatised and robbed of the ability to take action, which he had discovered was something he could do over the past six months.

The phone rang. She reached it first even though he was closer. He had hesitated because he thought they should let it ring.

'Eva.'

She gave him a quick look when she heard who it was. As if she was close to being exposed.

'I haven't got to it yet, can I call you a little later?'

Hadn't got to what?

'Good, I'll do that. See you later.'

She hung up and put down the phone.

'Who was that?'

'Pappa.'

She was lying without looking at him again. It was him the other man.

Somehow he had to rise up from his position at the bottom. He was the one who had been unpleasant lately. She could continue in peace and quiet to hide behind what was right wounded and unapproachable, forcing him to make up with her. Somehow he had to get her to confess. But not by accusing her. Then she would only be on her guard and also have a legitimate reason to strike back. No, he had to get her to reveal herself.

She had returned to the roses, although they were all standing as if to attention in the vase.

He decided to try a long shot. It should produce some kind of reaction.

'Janne says to say hello, by the way.'

'Mm-hmm. How are they doing these days?'

'They're fine. He said he saw you at some lunch place a while back.'

'Oh, he did?'

'You didn't seem to see him. He joked and wondered what sort of lamb meat you were out to lunch with.'

With the vase all arranged in her hands, she turned round.

'Lamb meat?'

'Yes, there was some young man you were eating with.'

'I don't remember that, when did he say it was?'

She walked towards the living room with the vase. He followed her.

'A week or so ago, maybe. I'm not sure.'

'It couldn't have been me. He must be mistaken.'

Cool as a cucumber. He didn't know her at all. Had she always been able to lie this easily? Maybe it wasn't the first time she had an affair behind his back; she had had plenty of opportunity over the years. All these business trips and all the overtime she worked. Even if she hadn't eaten lunch with him, the words 'lamb meat' should have bothered her, since her lover was a decade younger than she was.

He felt the anger taking over, and soon he would no longer be able to stop himself before he let it loose. She had set down the vase on the coffee table and now stood straightening up the roses as if they were going to be entered in a symmetry competition.

He turned and headed for the bathroom, feeling a great need to take a shower and wash off everything that had clung to him in the past day.

He checked the bathroom cabinet. No forgotten toothpaste. The wastebasket had been recently emptied and lined with a new plastic bag. There was washing in the machine, and he opened the lid to hang it up. Axel's dark-blue sweatsuit, Eva's black pullover. And then a pair of black lace panties that he had never seen before. He held them up between thumb and forefinger, disgusted at the thought of . . . God. So that's the way she dressed when she was out with her lover. She had certainly never dressed like that for him.

He took two clothes-pegs and hung the panties up in the drying cabinet so that they would be the first thing she saw when she came into the bathroom, would know that he had discovered them. And start to worry why he didn't comment on them.

He went back upstairs and into the bedroom. The bed was made and the bedspread in place. How could he ever sleep in that bed again?

He pulled out the top drawer in the chest of drawers where she kept her underwear, searched among the sensible panties that he usually saw her wearing. Then to the left, among her bras, another unknown piece of paraphernalia. A black lace bra with padding that he had never seen before. He heard her clattering in the kitchen, held up the bra, and was assaulted by the image of her and the other man together in the double bed behind him, how his feverish hands managed to undo the little clasp he saw before him and expose her breasts. He resisted the impulse to rush out to the kitchen and throw it right in her self-pitying face, forced himself to take a few deep breaths. He was just about to push the drawer back in when he caught sight of something else. A corner of something red. A diary with a lock but with the key hanging on a silver thread from the little heart-shaped lock. A diary? Since when had she spent time on something like that? The sounds from the kitchen assured him that she was still out there. He quickly opened the lock with the little key and started to page through the diary. Blank and not written in. Not a word on the white pages. He was just about to lock it again when something fell into his hand and he discovered hand-written words on the inside of the cover.

'To my Beloved! I am with you. Everything will be fine. A book to fill with memories of all the wonderful things that await us.'

Then he looked down at his palm and didn't want to believe what he saw.

Disgusting, and tied with a light-blue thread, was a light-blond lock of that bastard's hair.

Almost thirteen thousand kronor per month. Just in living expenses. The papers lay in piles spread out on the kitchen table in front of her: mortgage, electric bills, insurance. She could handle the operating costs and the mortgage herself, but she would have to change her habits radically. A cheaper company car. Buy wholesale at discount stores. Write precise shopping lists and buy economy size.

She looked at the folder the real estate agent had given them when they bought the house. A colour picture of a smiling house on the cover. A dark spot right above the chimney. Henrik had spilled his wine when they celebrated the occasion at the Cafe Opera's sidewalk restaurant on the way home.

Eight years ago.

Her father had asked her to call a surveyor to ascertain the value of the house, and then she could figure out how much she would have to borrow. She would certainly see to it that all the papers were in order the day her husband finally dared to confess his betrayal. In an hour she would be able to withdraw the money and tell him to go to hell.

Suddenly she thought she heard the sound of a key in the door. He wasn't supposed to come home until the following day, so she must be hearing things. It occurred to her that this had happened often in the past few days, that she heard sounds she didn't recognise. Last night when she was in the shower she could have sworn that she'd heard someone upstairs. The balcony door was open and for a moment she had been afraid. Pulled her robe tight around her and went upstairs, looking through all the rooms and the cupboards too, to make sure the house was empty. Axel was staying with her parents, so it wasn't him. For the first time she had a chance to feel what it would be like in the future. Alone in the house. Fear of the dark would upset her. And the other evening she was so sure that someone was standing on the balcony looking at her through the dark windowpane. She had to conquer the fear that was trying to ensnare her, she had to be strong.

Then she heard the sound of the front door opening. Someone came into the hallway.

'Hello?'

'It's only me.'

Henrik. Why in hell was he home early?

There could only be one explanation. He had decided to confess and couldn't contain himself a minute longer so he could relieve his guilty conscience. Now here he came, running home a day early and she hadn't managed to finish everything. She had put the magazine article about Linda in Simon's mother's mailbox yesterday, she must have read it by now, but she hadn't yet heard any reaction from the day-care centre. No urgent call to set up another crisis meeting. And it would be two days from now before she could take out the money she would toss in his face.