Free Cinderella Girl by Carin Gerhardsen

make any more scratches. It was quite far from the kitchen to the hall, but at last she was there. She climbed up on the chair, full of expectation, and made a half-turn on the knob until it stopped, at the same time pushing down the handle. Nothing. The door would not budge. So Mummy had locked her in. Could that really be so? She could believe many things about Mummy, but she never would have imagined that she would want Hanna to starve to death.
    Hanna climbed carefully down from the chair again and carried it over to the telephone, so that she would be prepared next time it rang. If it rang. She shivered, still freezing after her ice-cold dinner. Her whole body was cold, except her right hand, which throbbed angrily from the hot water that had splashed on her that morning. She went to the children’s room to look for some clothes to put on. Just as she had pulled out one of the drawers in the dresser and yanked out a little white T-shirt with a strawberry on the chest from one of Mummy’s neatly folded piles, the phone rang again.
    This time she would make it; the child’s chair was already by the phone. One ring: Hanna started running towards the hall. Two rings: she was at the chair and starting to climb. Three rings now: she would make it, she was already halfway up. Four rings: she reached for the receiver, but with the dark-red, tender back of her hand she bumped against a framed photograph of herself and Lukas that was hanging on the wall. It hurt so much that she pulled her hand away wildly, losing her balance andfalling headlong from the chair. She fell to the side where there was a bureau with metal knobs sticking out from the drawers. One of them struck her across the mouth and another one tore a gash in her cheek as she fell. She landed on her back on the hard, cold tiled floor, her hair fanned around her head like an ash-blonde wreath. The phone rang a fifth time and then it was silent.
    * * *
    Sjöberg took the opportunity to live like a bachelor whenever the rest of the family was out of town. This was something Sandén – who cared little about his health – was always open to, but which Sjöberg seldom indulged in. If you decide to have five kids you have to bear the consequences. This evening, however, they would party.
    Sjöberg could not quite shake off the unpleasant mood of his dream and felt slightly nauseous all day. The dream, which he usually had once or twice a month, had started haunting him several times a week. And it had such a powerful effect on him that it never really left him in peace, not even during the day.
    When Sandén had called to suggest they meet for a beer, Sjöberg happily accepted the invitation. He was on the way back from visiting his mother at Huddinge Hospital. She would be there for another twenty-four hours according to the medical staff, but was feeling good for the most part.
    At four o’clock, when Sjöberg showed up at the little pub, the Half Way Inn on Swedenborgsgatan, Sandén wasalready perched on a bar stool by the window waiting for him. He could not have been waiting long; the two pint glasses in front of him were untouched. Sjöberg cheerfully greeted his old partner-in-crime, but was given a reserved smile in return. He did not understand until Sandén turned his whole face towards him.
    ‘What the hell happened to you?’ Sjöberg exclaimed. ‘Do you have a black eye?’
    Sjöberg could not conceal his amusement. Sandén was big enough to take care of himself and if something had happened to the lout, he no doubt had himself to blame. He was good-hearted by nature, but he could be a bit too aggressive for his own good.
    ‘Ran into a door,’ Sandén replied, nonchalantly drumming against his glass with his fingertips.
    ‘Ha,’ said Sjöberg. ‘Classic.’
    Sandén wrinkled his face into a grimace that was supposed to look distressed, and said in a quivering voice, ‘It’s Sonja. Spouse abuse.’
    ‘Oh boy,’ said Sjöberg, affecting sympathy,