Page 124 of The Sleepwalker
‘Sorry, I’m just curious,’ Bernard had explained. ‘I don’t mean to put any pressure on you, because there’s absolutely no rush as far as the book is concerned. You share what you want to share, at your own pace. You know that. It’s what we agreed.’
When Bernard is focused on his writing, he tries not to worry about Hugo. He blocks out anything that makes him feel stressed or anxious and attempts to avoid all thoughts of email interviews with Spanish newspapers or readers’ letters to his column inExpressen.
He has been in his office since five thirty this morning, and has finally managed to find his creative flow, writing well.
The rattle of his fingers on the keys slows, and he looks up as though he has just come round to reality.
The candle seems to have paled since the sun came up, with the sky brightening and the choppy waters of Lake Mälaren taking on the same colour as raw steel.
Bernard glances down at his phone and sees that it is now quarter past nine.
He checks his emails, and quickly skims through a message from his agent, telling him that he has been nominated for a German literary prize and encouraging him to share the news on social media.
There is an email from a French film producer, confirming their plans for dinner this evening, and his American publisher has forwarded a starred review fromPublishers Weekly, along with a message to say that they are still keen to organise a tour for him next autumn.
Bernard has just signed a digital renewal agreement for his first three books with an Italian publisher when Agneta sends a personalised bitmoji of herself waking up happy on a heart-shaped pillow. Bernard replies with his own bitmoji in which he has huge hearts for eyes, then gets up and heads down to the kitchen to make her a coffee.
On Saturdays, he likes to make various pasta dishes for brunch, taking them upstairs with two small glasses of red wine and crawling back into bed with Agneta to eat.
Today, the plan is to fry off some garlic in butter and olive oil before adding red pepper and ginger, sugar snap peas, fresh prawns and penne.
But first, she needs to drink her coffee and read the news.
Bernard climbs the stairs to their bedroom with a mug of coffee and some dark chocolate. Agneta has already opened the curtains, and is sitting in her bed with her iPad. She gives him a strange look as he comes into the room.
‘What is it?’ he asks.
‘Hugo has given an interview toAftonbladet,’ she says.
‘What?’
His hand shakes as he sets the cup down on her bedside table and takes the iPad. The headline of the piece isAXE MURDERS – SLEEPWALKER POLICE’S ONLY WITNESS.
‘What on earth .?.?. Did they go to the lab?’
‘Read it and you’ll see.’
He skims through the piece, staring in disbelief at the photographs of Hugo leaning back against a damp concrete wall.
A sense of unease rises up in Bernard as he sits down on the edge of the bed and rereads the entire text.
‘God,’ he whispers.
‘I know,’ Agneta mumbles, reaching for his hand.
‘Why is he doing this?’
* * *
After getting dressed, Agneta heads down to the kitchen. She reads a press release from the Swedish Publicists’ Association on her phone and sends a quick message to turn down an assignment reviewing a performance at the Modern Dance Theatre.
Through the walls, she hears Bernard shuffle down the hall to open the door for Hugo.
‘Could you take your earbuds out?’ he asks.
‘I’m not listening to anything.’
‘Do it anyway.’
