The last drawer was locked. She tugged on it, harder and harder, but it refused to yield. She knew that she had to get it open. There was some reason why Erik had locked it, there was something that he didn’t want her to see. She looked at the surface of the desk, which was a modern piece of furniture – in other words, not such a challenge to break into as an older, more solid desk would have been. Her eyes were drawn to a letter opener. That would do. She pulled at the drawer until the lock stopped it from moving. Then she inserted the letter opener into the crack and began prising at the lock. At first it looked like the drawer would refuse to give, but then she tried a little harder, and her hopes rose when the wood began to crack. When the lock finally let go, it happened so suddenly that she almost fell over backwards. At the last instant she grabbed the edge of the desk and managed to stay upright.

Curiosity mounting, she peered inside the drawer. Something white was lying on the bottom. She stretched out her hand, trying to focus because her vision had gone a bit hazy. White envelopes. The drawer contained nothing but letters in white envelopes. She actually recalled seeing them arrive in the post, but she had paid little attention at the time. They were all addressed to Erik, so she had simply added them to his stack of post, which he always opened when he came home from work. Why had he put them inside a locked drawer?

Louise took out the letters and sat down on the floor, spreading them out in front of her. Five of them, all with Erik’s name and address on the envelope, written with black ink in an elegant script.

For a moment she considered stuffing them back in the drawer and continuing on, ignoring everything. But she had broken the desk lock, and as soon as Erik came home, he would know that she had been in here. So she might as well have a look.

She reached for her wine glass, needing to feel the alcohol running down her throat and into her stomach, soothing the place where it hurt. Three sips. Then she set the glass on the floor beside her and opened the first letter.

After she had read them all, she stacked them up on top of each other. She didn’t understand a thing. Except it was clear that somebody wanted to harm Erik. Something evil was threatening their life, their family, and he had said nothing about it. That filled her with a rage greater than any anger she might have felt. He hadn’t considered her an equal, not enough to tell her about something important like this. But now he was going to have to answer to her. He could no longer treat her with such lack of respect.

She decided to drive into town, to Erik’s office. She placed the letters next to her on the passenger seat in the car. It took a moment for her to insert the key in the ignition, but after taking a couple of deep breaths, she managed it. She knew that she shouldn’t be driving right now, but like so many times before, she pushed aside any scruples and pulled out into the street.

12

He thought she looked rather sweet as she lay there so still, no longer crying or demanding or taking. He reached out his hand to touch her forehead. His movement stirred up the water again, and her features were blurred by the ripples on the surface.

It sounded like Father was saying goodbye to whoever it was at the front door. He could hear footsteps approaching. Father would understand. He too had been shut out. She had taken from him too.

He drew his fingers through the water, making patterns and waves. Her hands and feet were resting on the bottom. Only her knees and a small part of her forehead stuck out of the water.

Now he heard Father just outside the bathroom door. He didn’t look up. Suddenly it felt like he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He liked her this way. For the first time he liked her. He pressed his cheek even harder against the edge of the tub. Listening and waiting for Father to realize that they were free of her now. They had Mother back, both he and Father. Father would be happy; he was sure of that.

Then he felt someone yanking him away from the bathtub. Surprised, he looked up. Father’s face was contorted with so many feelings that he didn’t know how to interpret them. But he didn’t look happy.

‘What have you done?’ Father’s voice roared and he grabbed Alice out of the tub. Helplessly he held her slack body in his arms, and then he gently set her down on the rug. ‘What have you done?’ Father said again, without looking at him.

‘She took Mother away.’ He felt the words stick in his throat, unable to come out. He didn’t understand a thing. He thought Father would be pleased.

Father didn’t say a word. Just gave him a quick glance, a look of disbelief on his face. Then he leaned down and pressed his fingers lightly on the baby’s chest. He held her nose, blew gently into her mouth, and then pressed on her chest again.

‘Why are you doing that, Father?’ He could hear how whiny his voice sounded. Mother didn’t like it when he whined. He pulled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them as he leaned his back against the tub. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Why was Father giving him such strange looks? He wasn’t just angry at him; Father also looked scared of him.

Father kept on blowing into Alice’s mouth. Her hands and feet lay motionless on the rug, just as still as when they were resting on the bottom of the tub. Every once in a while they jerked a bit when Father pressed his fingers on her chest, but that was Father moving them. She wasn’t moving them on her own.

But the fourth time that Father stopped blowing, one of her hands quivered. Then came the coughing, and after that the scream. That oh-so-familiar, shrill, demanding scream. He didn’t like her any more.

Mother’s footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs. Father picked up Alice, holding her so close that the front of his shirt was soaked. She was shrieking so loudly that the bathroom seemed to vibrate, and he wished that she would stop, that she would be as quiet and sweet as she was before Father did what he had done to her.

As Mother approached, Father squatted down in front of him. His eyes were big and frightened as he leaned forward and whispered: ‘We will never talk about what happened here. And if you ever do it again, I’m going to send you away so fast that you won’t even hear the door close after you. Do you understand? You are never to touch her again!’

‘What’s going on here?’ Mother’s voice in the doorway. ‘The minute I go upstairs to take a nap for a moment’s respite, pure hysteria breaks out down here. What’s wrong with her? Did he do something?’ She turned to look at him sitting on the floor.

For several seconds the only answer was Alice screaming. Then Father stood up, still holding her in his arms, and said, ‘No, I just didn’t get the towel wrapped around her fast enough when I took her out of the bath. She’s just angry.’

‘Are you sure he didn’t do anything?’ She stared at him, but he just bowed his head and pretended to be busy tugging at the fringe of the rug.

‘No, he was just helping me out. He’s been very nice with her.’ Out of the corner of his eye, Father gave him a warning look.

Mother seemed satisfied with that response. Impatiently she reached out for Alice, and after a moment’s hesitation, Father handed the baby to her. When she had left the room to calm the child, they looked at each other. Neither of them said a word. But he saw in Father’s eyes that he meant what he had said. They would never speak of what had just happened.

‘Kenneth?’ Her voice broke as she tried to call her husband’s name.