kind of money.’
Thomas’s mother found it hard to like Annika – she couldn’t forgive her for disrupting her life. Eleonor had been the daughter she’d never had. As far as Annika knew, the two women still socialized a great deal. Not even the children made much of a difference to her standing with her mother-in-law.
‘Poor children,’ Thomas’s mother would exclaim, ‘having to live in the city.’
No matter what Annika did, it was never good enough.
‘Oh dear,’ her mother-in-law might say, ‘the children are so skinny. Aren’t they eating right?’
What she meant was: ‘Aren’t you feeding them?’ Followed by: ‘Let’s hope they won’t be as skinny as you.’
Annika had no relationship at all with her father-in-law. Whenever he came to visit, he quickly buried his nose in a paper or magazine and only replied absent-mindedly in monosyllables. Sometimes he would go and lie down on their bed and sleep through dinner.
A sharp thunderclap caused Annika to jump to her feet. Once again, the sky was overcast: a dark and ominous vault suspended over the white buildings. The air crackled with electricity and a gust of wind pushed her forward. Irritated, she shoved the damp pad in her bag and slung it over her shoulder. A second later the entire landscape exploded in a bluish-white light, followed by another thunderclap a split second later. Any moment now the rain would assault her.
Noiselessly, she made her way behind the hedges, hugging close against the back of the old stable building. A glance at the parking lot told her that the other reporters had left. The police officer over by the barrier who had been guarding the path to the castle had disappeared. Another bolt of lightning split the heavens. The delay before the thunderclap was heard was slightly longer this time – the storm was moving away. She quickly retraced her steps. A basement window of the laundry facilities was banging in the wind. She hoped she wouldn’t have to crawl in through it. Gingerly, she pressed down on the handle of the kitchen’s back door. It squeaked a bit and opened with an unoiled groan. Then the first raindrops hit her. They were as big as tennis balls. Without reflecting more on the matter, Annika went into the scullery and closed the door behind her.
The darkness enveloped her immediately. The torrents of rain pulled down a grey blind outside the only window in the room. She could make out a washing machine and a dryer, a small stainless-steel sink and piles of dirty bedlinen. A door led into a small kitchen and she went in: a dishwasher, a coffee-maker, a kitchen table covered with a plastic tablecloth and surrounded by six chairs. The place was littered with empty bottles, rubbish and dirty dishes. There was a window facing the backyard and a door appearing to lead to the parlour was ajar. Annika opened the door fully and stopped short, utterly perplexed.
Practically every single stick of furniture had been knocked over: a sofa, two armchairs, and a dining table. A few chairs were broken and had been piled up near the front door. A vase of flowers had been smashed to smithereens in front of the fireplace, the lupins now wilting in a welter of splintered china and spilled water. The rugs were all scrunched up and a picture had fallen down from the wall.
A thought flashed through Annika’s mind: I shouldn’t be here. I really ought to leave.
But she remained nailed to the spot, staring at the mess. A giant had ploughed through this place, tipping, tossing and crushing everything in its path. Fascinated, she tried to picture the scenario of this destruction, the strength of the arms that had splintered the backs of the dining-room chairs. Cautiously, she picked her way through the mess, approaching the upended table, noting the playing cards and broken glasses on the other side. The awareness that she shouldn’t be there made the adrenalin course through her system and she moved on, picking up her
Thomas’s mother found it hard to like Annika – she couldn’t forgive her for disrupting her life. Eleonor had been the daughter she’d never had. As far as Annika knew, the two women still socialized a great deal. Not even the children made much of a difference to her standing with her mother-in-law.
‘Poor children,’ Thomas’s mother would exclaim, ‘having to live in the city.’
No matter what Annika did, it was never good enough.
‘Oh dear,’ her mother-in-law might say, ‘the children are so skinny. Aren’t they eating right?’
What she meant was: ‘Aren’t you feeding them?’ Followed by: ‘Let’s hope they won’t be as skinny as you.’
Annika had no relationship at all with her father-in-law. Whenever he came to visit, he quickly buried his nose in a paper or magazine and only replied absent-mindedly in monosyllables. Sometimes he would go and lie down on their bed and sleep through dinner.
A sharp thunderclap caused Annika to jump to her feet. Once again, the sky was overcast: a dark and ominous vault suspended over the white buildings. The air crackled with electricity and a gust of wind pushed her forward. Irritated, she shoved the damp pad in her bag and slung it over her shoulder. A second later the entire landscape exploded in a bluish-white light, followed by another thunderclap a split second later. Any moment now the rain would assault her.
Noiselessly, she made her way behind the hedges, hugging close against the back of the old stable building. A glance at the parking lot told her that the other reporters had left. The police officer over by the barrier who had been guarding the path to the castle had disappeared. Another bolt of lightning split the heavens. The delay before the thunderclap was heard was slightly longer this time – the storm was moving away. She quickly retraced her steps. A basement window of the laundry facilities was banging in the wind. She hoped she wouldn’t have to crawl in through it. Gingerly, she pressed down on the handle of the kitchen’s back door. It squeaked a bit and opened with an unoiled groan. Then the first raindrops hit her. They were as big as tennis balls. Without reflecting more on the matter, Annika went into the scullery and closed the door behind her.
The darkness enveloped her immediately. The torrents of rain pulled down a grey blind outside the only window in the room. She could make out a washing machine and a dryer, a small stainless-steel sink and piles of dirty bedlinen. A door led into a small kitchen and she went in: a dishwasher, a coffee-maker, a kitchen table covered with a plastic tablecloth and surrounded by six chairs. The place was littered with empty bottles, rubbish and dirty dishes. There was a window facing the backyard and a door appearing to lead to the parlour was ajar. Annika opened the door fully and stopped short, utterly perplexed.
Practically every single stick of furniture had been knocked over: a sofa, two armchairs, and a dining table. A few chairs were broken and had been piled up near the front door. A vase of flowers had been smashed to smithereens in front of the fireplace, the lupins now wilting in a welter of splintered china and spilled water. The rugs were all scrunched up and a picture had fallen down from the wall.
A thought flashed through Annika’s mind: I shouldn’t be here. I really ought to leave.
But she remained nailed to the spot, staring at the mess. A giant had ploughed through this place, tipping, tossing and crushing everything in its path. Fascinated, she tried to picture the scenario of this destruction, the strength of the arms that had splintered the backs of the dining-room chairs. Cautiously, she picked her way through the mess, approaching the upended table, noting the playing cards and broken glasses on the other side. The awareness that she shouldn’t be there made the adrenalin course through her system and she moved on, picking up her
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