The badger, p.6
The Badger, page 6
11
WEDNESDAY 17 NOVEMBER
She was far too beautiful for me, I ought to have realised, but what teenager cares about that? So looking back now, I realise it wasn’t meant to last for ever.
Annika yawned and looked at her watch. “Where is he?” she said, crossing her legs. “He’s late.”
Annika and Katrin were sitting on a dark grey sofa in the bar of Hotel Post, overlooking the foyer and the large revolving door in the entrance. The granite floor had recently been polished as smooth as a mirror, yet it appeared tired in the rain-filtered light from outside. Background music was filling the room, mixing with the echoes of heels and occasional laid-back conversation. Katrin rooted out her diary from a tote bag with the Gothenburg Book Fair logo on it. The print still looked like new, so it had to be this year’s. Annika recalled how disgruntled everyone had been that the Eklund stand had only been half the size as it usually was. They should have smelt trouble even then.
“At least we’re on time,” said Katrin, shutting her diary. “He should’ve been here almost twenty minutes ago.”
Annika stood up and briefly paced up and down. “Should we call and check he hasn’t forgotten the meeting?”
“I don’t know if there’s any point,” said Katrin. “His manager said he could be difficult to get hold of. He doesn’t reply to unknown numbers on account of his many admirers calling.”
“Christ,” said Annika, rolling her eyes. “Who does he actually think he is?”
Katrin shrugged. “I don’t know. But I think that’s him coming there.” She nodded towards the lobby. A man with long hair down over his shoulders was walking towards them unsteadily on his feet. He was shorter than Annika but broad-shouldered with clearly defined muscle tone, deliberately ill-concealed beneath a low-necked T-shirt. Annika saw more of the tattoos on his chest than she wished to.
“Are you two from that publisher?” he said. He put his hands in his pockets, shoving his hips forwards.
“Annika Granlund. Publisher at Eklund Press.” Annika was aware how stiff her words came across as she held out her hand.
“Niklas Granath,” the man said, looking at Annika’s hand. He didn’t show the slightest indication of receiving it. “Cute ring. Attling?”
Annika looked at her ring. “Yes.”
“I’ve done some modelling for them.”
“Okay. This is Katrin Falk, an editor with us.” Katrin waved, but didn’t get up. “Great you could see us, with you being in town and all that.”
“My manager said you want to write a biography about me,” said Niklas. His angular face softened and his smile brought out furrows he was too young to have. “That’s cool. I promise, I’ve got plenty of great stories to tell, you have no idea.” He sat down, legs wide apart on the sofa opposite. “So, what do you think?”
Annika exchanged a glance with Katrin and sat down once more. “We’ve been given to believe that you’ve been on a pretty bumpy ride with your ex-wife, Jacqueline, but not many people know how it’s affected you personally. We think many of them would like to hear your side of the story.”
“Layered with snippets about your life,” Katrin chipped in. “What happened before, during and after the divorce. Where you are now and stuff.”
Niklas sighed. He leaned forwards and beckoned Annika over to him. “You’re the boss in this set-up, right?” he said. “Move a bit closer.”
Annika shuffled forwards on the sofa and leaned closer. She caught a whiff of alcohol on Niklas’s breath. “She hit me,” he said, fixing her with a gaze. “Not many guys in my circle would admit that. Being the big strong man’s so fucking important, you know. But there you go. She would hit me, spread lies about me and got everybody to hate me.”
“I… I’m sorry, I really am. But this is the sort of thing you could bring up if we get to write about it. Give you control over your own story.”
Niklas eyed Annika up and down. “You’re fit,” he said, leaning back again. “I like your hair.”
Annika didn’t know what to think. She didn’t budge or bat an eyelid. Her hand adjusted the neckline on her blouse so he couldn’t sneak a peek through her buttons.
“How much am I going to get, then?” he said. “Like, you know, a story like mine doesn’t come for nothing. Access to Niklas Granath requires a VIP ticket.”
Annika let out a brief snort. She gave a sidelong glance down at the shiny floor and to Niklas’s footwear. Brown cowboy boots. They were scuffed and soiled, way beyond anything that even a really good polishing could put right. “I can’t make an offer today,” said Annika. “Like we said to your manager, we wanted to meet first and see if there was any chance of us working together.”
Niklas nodded disinterestedly. “I see.”
Deep down Annika wanted to tell him to take a running jump. If he really did have a sob story to tell, so be it. But for Annika, he looked no more than a washed-up B-list celebrity in need of money. Her doubts were niggling at her but the company needed something to make money. There was certainly an audience out there who would want to read about the life and exploits of Niklas Granath.
“Would you be willing to take part in an interview with the author we had in mind to see if you both could join forces?”
“Do I get anything for it?”
“No, I’m afraid you don’t.”
Niklas looked around as if searching for someone. He tapped the toe of his boot impatiently on the floor. “Hear that?” he said. “That’s the sound of opportunities starting to move. If you don’t want to lose them, you’ve got to keep up.”
“Can you keep up?” said Annika.
Niklas’s face brightened. He pointed at Annika. Across his middle knuckle a tattooed skull was grinning in her direction. “Well, that’s the first thing with any kind of spark you’ve said all along. Okay, I’ll do an interview. But I want fifty grand, minimum, if you write a book. Deal?”
“Let us consider it. We’ll get back to you,” said Annika.
They ended the meeting as it began. Niklas staggered his way up to his room and Annika and Katrin were left alone in the lobby.
“What do you think?” said Annika, putting on her coat.
Katrin shook her head. “No.”
“I know, right? And that smell of booze.” Annika pulled a face and wafted the air in front of her nose. I can’t remember the last time I smelt that much alcohol on someone’s breath.” An icy flash of lightning crackled down her spine. “Not since…” she said, without finishing her sentence. A memory of old was working its way to the surface of her consciousness.
Katrin looked at her, raising an eyebrow which she usually did before asking something. “Not since… when?”
Annika shook her head. “Not since the last time I met Jan Apelgren.”
“Was that at the autumn party? I don’t remember him smelling of drink.”
“Yes, well he did,” said Annika. “Not as much as he did, but enough to notice. The only thing he did do at the party was drink and talk about how much he wanted to write that horror novel. I tried convincing him to carry on with Turwall. But he really didn’t want to.”
Annika felt a lump in her throat. He said something about the fact he was sleeping badly. Something had been scraping on the walls when he was supposed to be asleep. Exactly like in the book she had just read. Exactly like that time in the basement.
Katrin wrapped a purple woollen scarf around her neck. “He seemed unhappy. As if he was caught somewhere he didn’t want to be.”
“Ugh, yes,” said Annika, wrinkling her nose. She masked her unease by buttoning her coat up around her body. It was warm yet she felt chilled to the marrow. Apelgren had heard scraping sounds. She pushed the thought out of her mind and went out into the rain with Katrin.
“How are things with Martin, by the way?” said Katrin.
Annika winced. “Things are really good, actually.”
But of course they weren’t. But they were going to be soon, once they found their house.
12
WEDNESDAY 17 NOVEMBER
She betrayed me with someone else. I was left alone and bitter, determined not to let it happen again. The black seed had been nurtured, taken root and started to grow.
As soon as she stepped into the hall, Annika was met by the smell of cooking. She dropped her large shopping bag on the floor and hung up her coat. Martin came into the hall wearing a chequered apron covered in stains from previous cooking adventures.
“Welcome home,” he said.
“You’re home already?” said Annika. “I thought you had lots on at work.”
“Well I do,” he said, leaning against the wall. “I just thought you deserved dinner.”
Annika struggled out of her boots. “Just like that?” She tried to gloss over the suspicion in her voice with a smile.
“Yes. Kind of. You’ve seemed a bit down so I thought it might cheer you up. Bad idea?”
“Not at all,” she said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be tedious.” They went into the kitchen. Martin handed her a glass of wine and continued to busy himself over the stove.
“You’ll never guess what a weird meeting I had today,” she said. “Do you know who Niklas Granath is?”
“No. Should I?”
“He’s one of those reality TV stars. You know, mostly muscles and tattoos but no depth.”
“Wasn’t he the one who got shirty because he didn’t get a part on Paradise Hotel?” said Martin. He placed a cooking dish in the oven and put the gloves aside on the counter. “Why did you meet him?”
Annika rolled her eyes and drank some wine. “You might well ask. The company is leaving no stone unturned looking for material that will make money. We were thinking of maybe writing a biography about him.”
“Ha! Then you really are desperate.”
Annika rested her forehead into her hand. “I know.”
Martin sat down opposite her. “It’s going to be all right. Even if the company goes belly up, we’ve still got each other.”
Annika smiled. His features were soft in the light from the candles. He was a good-looker, after all. She had struck it lucky going to that party. All the same, it was there, in the pit of her stomach. That feeling that something was missing.
“I just wish there was something I could do.” She took a large gulp of wine to flush away any misgivings. “I love my job, I’d sell my soul to get to keep it.”
“You work in a tough sector. Perhaps you should be an IT-consultant like me instead.”
“No, thanks.”
Martin laughed. “Though you wouldn’t have to worry about losing your job. There’s more to do than anyone can deal with.”
“Don’t change the subject now. Just listen to this and tell me I’m not crazy. We’ve got a manuscript that might save us. But I don’t think the others will risk publishing it.”
Martin frowned. “Why not?”
“Guess who wrote it?” said Annika, sipping at her wine. The corners of her mouth were inching upwards into a knowing smile. “I shouldn’t really say. Jan Apelgren.”
Martin raised his eyebrows. “Hang on, isn’t he dead?”
“Well, nobody knows. Disappeared without a trace, which makes managing the copyright of the manuscript difficult. We don’t know even if it is him. But, anyway! Isn’t it mad that they’re dithering? Am I the only one wanting to save the company?”
Martin held back and poured sauce from the pan into a jug. “I don’t know anything about that, but if they’re not sure, it might be wise to be cautious. Right, food’s ready.”
They ate their meal, talked for a long time, laughing together like they used to do. No discussions about houses, children or work. They reminisced about visiting the Acropolis in the searing heat and Martin drinking up the last of their water. The New York taxi driver who cut across a petrol station at breakneck speed. And how it was that they came to find each other at a party without either of them knowing the hosts.
For almost an hour, everyday life and all their cares and worries disappeared while they enjoyed their dinner and each other’s company. Martin had even made dessert. Her favourite, chocolate brownie cake with strawberry sorbet.
When they had finished eating, he looked at her seriously. “Annika, there is actually another reason for our lovely dinner. I feel we have some talking to do.”
All at once her doubts returned. She did her best to stifle them. “What about?”
Martin sighed. “I don’t want you getting the wrong idea.” He was swirling his glass around nervously. Smudges from his fingers were marking the crystal glass.
Annika had a funny feeling. “What do you mean?”
“It feels like there are things in our relationship that we should talk about. But every time I try, it’s like you’re… brushing them aside. Changing the subject. Like yesterday.”
“Is this about the house?” asked Annika. Or is it about children, she thought. Doesn’t he want any?
“No, not exactly. But I sort of get the feeling you’re having doubts. None of the properties we look at are suitable, something’s always not quite right. Take basements, for example. What’s that actually all about?”
Annika took a large gulp of wine. She didn’t want to talk about it. Maybe he would understand, maybe he wouldn’t. If she could have forgotten, she would have done, but it ran too deeply. She sighed. “I should’ve told you ages ago. It’s just that… there are certain things I’d rather not talk about, so I push them aside.”
“Okay.”
Annika put her glass down. She took a deep breath. The food was churning in her stomach as she began.
“My dad’s aunt used to have a huge, old house in the country. I hated it each time we were there. But you know what it’s like when you’re young and you’ve got to tag along everywhere, even if it’s boring some of the time.”
“We all know what that’s like,” said Martin.
“There was no shower and the only toilet was an old earth closet in the basement. In the summer we went outside, around the corner of the house and in through a door at the side. But in the winter, or when it was raining, there was no other way.” Annika swallowed. “Then you had to walk through the basement.”
She could see in Martin’s face that she had his attention.
“The stairs going down were made of old planks which would creak with every step. They were steep and narrow, leading down to a deep basement with bare stone walls. The light switches were the sort you had to turn until they went click and the bulbs used to hang from the ceiling directly from the cable.”
Annika leaned forward, propping herself up by her elbows. Her body was tensing in discomfort. “It was like a labyrinth down there. There were nooks and crannies full of clutter everywhere, doors, slightly open to rooms in darkness, and a buzzing boiler I was scared to death of. Nobody ever cleaned up and there were cobwebs, insects and lots of mouse traps all over the place. Eventually you made it. Then you had to walk all the way back, turning the lights off behind you.”
“That sounds pretty grim,” said Martin.
“It was bloody creepy. Mum had to come with me each time.”
“I can believe it. But now you’d be able to hack it, right?”
Annika shuddered. “Yes. If it wasn’t for what happened one night.” She wrapped her arms around her body to stop feeling cold. As her fingers slid across her arms, she felt her skin turning pimply.
Martin leaned closer.
“I woke up in the middle of the night, needing to pee so badly I thought I’d burst. Everyone else was asleep. Mum and I had a quarrel that evening and I didn’t dare wake her. I’d be starting school soon, so I was big enough to go and pee on my own. Even so, I was petrified. I peered down the stairs for several minutes before I could face going down to the basement. I heard the boiler growling in the darkness. In the end, I headed down. I put a pair of clogs on so I wouldn’t get dirty and crept towards the closet. It was cold and smelt of earth. I could swear there were things in the darkness watching my every step. Just as I passed the boiler, the lights went out. Everything went pitch-black. My heart was thumping and I was frozen in terror.”
“Shit.”
“That was just the beginning. You see, that’s the thing about spiders, mice and beetles and stuff living in old basements. I knew that they weren’t dangerous. The red light on the boiler that I was so scared of wasn’t dangerous either, even if to me it was like an evil eye in the darkness. But that was nothing compared to what happened next.”
Annika swallowed and tried to steady her heartbeat. “Something was scraping,” she said.
A scraping sound like knives against the walls. It had come from outside the house. From beneath. It was something living in the earth. Something wanting to come inside. Evil.
“There was something in the earth outside that was drawing its claws against the external wall. I heard it whispering to me. As if it was trying to entice me. Don’t ask me how I knew, I just did.”
“What did you do?”
“What do you think? I pissed myself. Then the light came back on and I ran up the stairs again as fast as I could. But the lock on the door had jammed. I pounded on it frantically while the scraping sounds on the walls down there were getting nearer and nearer. Until Mum finally came and managed to get the door open.”
“Christ,” said Martin, drinking some wine. “You must have actually been scared to death.”
Annika nodded. “I never set foot in that basement again. I’ve hated basements ever since.”
“I understand that. But you were only young. You must have imagined it.”
“Must have done. But I’ll never forget those scraping sounds.”
She shuddered. The same scraping sounds as in the manuscript. The same sounds that had kept Apelgren awake at night.
13
THURSDAY 18 NOVEMBER
