Free Drowned by Therese Bohman Page B

consoling her when she has always taken care of herself, and then I think it isn’t like that at all, because she has never consoled me, I have never wept on her shoulder. She shows that she cares by making demands on me instead, I think, she believes it’s as easy for everyone else as it is for her, you just make a decision and get things done: science options in school, part-time work in a market garden, disciplined academic studies with no dropped points or missed assessments, boyfriend with a permanent job and a place of his own. This business with Gabriel is the first illogical thing she has done, the first thing that doesn’t seem to have been part of a plan that was as straight as an arrow. And at the same time she entered into this illogical relationship with the same purposefulness she applies to everything else, convinced that it will work: a relationship with a considerably older man, the new job, the move to Skåne, the garden she has made exactly as she wants it. She has been talking about renovating the house too, doing up the kitchen and the bathroom, redoing the tiling, replacing the floors. Gabriel has opted out of the discussion, he’s too comfortable, I should think it probably annoys him.
    I stroke Stella’s hair and she stops crying after a little while, she seems almost ashamed at having behaved with such a lack of control, and in public too.She glances around to check if anyone is looking at us, digs a handkerchief out of her purse and blows her nose, tidies her hair.
    “Do I look terrible?”
    “No, of course not.”
    She gives a wan smile.
    “I really want to wait before I talk to Gabriel about this. So don’t say anything to him. About any of it.”
    “No, I promise,” I say again.
    Peter rings in the evening, his voice loud and clear over the telephone even though he’s so far away, in Barcelona for the time being, they’re going to carry on along the coast, perhaps go down to Gibraltar. He sounds happy but slightly awkward, I can hear voices in the background, some of them female, the sound of high heels on a tiled floor, a woman laughing, he says he’s in a restaurant.
    “Are you having a good time?” I ask.
    “Absolutely. You’d like Barcelona.”
    “I’m sure I would.”
    I don’t know what to say to him. The realization that it has only been a few weeks since we last saw each other but he has almost disappeared from my mind already is liberating. I don’t even miss him when I hear his voice, I think, I don’t care who that laugh belongs to.
    “So how are things with you?” he says in that new, polite tone of voice.
    “Fine. I’m not doing much, really. Reading and eating, mostly.”
    “Sounds good. Like a real summer holiday.”
    The thoughtfulness in his voice doesn’t sound genuine to me, the fact that he’s trying to pretend just makes me feel uncomfortable, I don’t want to pretend any longer, and I don’t want to talk to him anymore, I clear my throat.
    “Listen, Stella’s just shouted to me, she wants some help with dinner. So … you take care.”
    “You too.”
    We hang up at exactly the same time, very quickly, both equally relieved, perhaps.

    Stella and I walk through the forest on our way down to the lake, over shiny tree roots and last year’s fallen leaves. The trees around us are tall, it’s like walking in a great hall of trunks, a cathedral with a ceiling made of treetops. I look up at the sky, blue flickering among the green, I see a bird way up high, sitting motionless on a branch and watching us. It is hot even in the shade beneath the trees, the air seems to be standing still.
    By the side of the path there are mats of glowing green sorrel, I break off a few leaves and push them inmy mouth. The taste is sour, just as I remember from the forest where we played when we were little, but I find it difficult to swallow the leaves when they grow soft in my mouth, I spit them out. Stella looks at me, her expression amused.
    “You can use them