Page 38 of The Sleepwalker
Agneta turns towards the water. The houses on Björnholmen, in the middle of the narrow inlet, are all dark.
‘Your anxiety is infectious,’ she says. ‘But the fact is .?.?. I know he has school in the morning, but he’s a seventeen-year-old with a girlfriend, and it’s only one a.m. Maybe it’s notsounusual?’
‘Except he’s in the middle of a serious episode at the moment, which means he isn’t sleeping well and could nod off anywhere – on the metro, in a bar .?.?.’
Bernard finishes his crispbread and sweeps the crumbs into a small heap on the table in front of him.
‘I appreciate that you tried to talk to him, anyway. I know it isn’t easy,’ Agneta says softly.
‘No, it .?.?.’ He trails off and takes a sip of tea.
‘What?’ she asks.
‘He’ll be eighteen soon, and I’m just so scared of driving him away. I desperately want him to be a part of my life.’
‘Of course.’
‘And I think he needs me, too, even if he can’t see that himself right now,’ Bernard says, checking once again that he hasn’t switched his phone to silent. ‘I’m just afraid he’ll do something stupid, in desperation .?.?.’
‘I know.’
‘I’d never forgive myself.’
‘For what?’
Bernard gestures dejectedly before getting up to pour more tea.
‘You know it isn’t right to let him be so rude to me,’ Agneta says calmly. ‘It isn’t helping him, nor is it showing him love .?.?.’
‘No, but—’
‘And it’ll end up wrecking our relationship.’
‘We can’t let that happen,’ he says, looking her in the eye.
‘No.’
‘You know, I’ve been thinking about when we first met .?.?. We were so in love, head over heels, but Hugo never had a say in any of this. It feels as though it was my fault things moved so quickly. I needed to forget Claire, and Hugo needed a mum.’
‘Especially since she doesn’t make any effort to contact him.’
‘She does, just not often enough.’
‘Hugo misses her.’
‘This might not be the right word, but it’s as though she left a void inside him,’ says Bernard.
He turns to the window, watching a light out in the dark strait.
‘I’ve been in his life for as long as Claire was,’ says Agneta.
‘I know that,’ he replies, meeting her sad eyes. ‘But it isn’t about you; you’ve done everything right.’
Agneta loathes herself whenever she turns her frustrations on Claire and allows resentment to cloud her thoughts.
It’s just that Claire had everything, a perfect young son, and she still chose the drugs over him. She never even manages to reach out to him on his birthday, doesn’t have the energy to call at Christmas.
Agneta sips her tea, then lowers her cup and makes an effort to change the subject.
