Page 183 of The Sleepwalker
‘As a parent, you desperately want to be able to comfort your child. It’s damn near unbearable when they’re upset, but .?.?. I decided – perhaps a little cynically – that silence on her part might actually be the kindest thing. Or the most truthful, at least.’
‘So the part about her joining the methadone programme .?.?. you made that up?’
‘I .?.?. She was always talking about it, but she would back out at the last minute every time.’
‘OK, I get it. I did think it was weird that she’d used the word “anniversaire” to talk about his birthday when they say “fête” in Canada.’
‘Do they? I didn’t know that .?.?. I’ll have to get you to help next time I need to fake a letter,’ he says, attempting a smile.
Agneta sits down heavily on the desk chair and looks up at him.
‘What do you think happened to Claire?’ she asks.
‘Honestly? She couldn’t hack life here in Sweden, with me .?.?. All the demands .?.?. I don’t know. She went back to Canada, to her messy life there, to the drugs and her old friends .?.?. You can see from her letters that she was trying a bit at first, but that she .?.?. She sort of gets more and more bogged down. It’s so tragic, desperately so .?.?. I don’t know. I hope .?.?. I hope, of course, that she’s in rehab, that she’s put the past behind her – myself and Hugo included – in order to start over.’
‘But?’
‘I don’t think she’s overdosed. It doesn’t feel like she’s dead,’ he says, dabbing at his eyes. ‘But I do worry that things might have taken a turn for the worse for her .?.?. that she’s contracted HIV or got mixed up in prostitution, crime .?.?.’
* * *
Bernard and Agneta have made their way back downstairs, and are sitting at the kitchen table in the glow of two candles. As they share a bottle of Château Tour Baladoz, Bernard eats the leftovers Agneta has reheated for him: tagliatelle with steak, lemon, Parmesan shavings and fresh basil.
‘Well, the window is a bit more secure now, at the very least,’ he says as he chews.
‘I actually went out and scrubbed the .?.?. you know .?.?. the door off the wall yesterday. So no one would be able to get in that way,’ she confesses.
Bernard laughs and splutters. He lowers his fork and wipes his mouth with a napkin.
‘The thought crossed my mind too,’ he says with a grin.
The circles of light from the two candles flicker in sync across the table, like a couple of hula-hoops.
‘Things could have ended very differently, you know,’ Agnetamumbles.
‘It might’ve been the sound of your car that scared her off. Or maybe she realised it was me, rather than Hugo .?.?.’
‘You think it was because of the interview? Because Hugo is a witness?’
‘I don’t know what I think, but I know what I’m afraid of. We can do without a bit of gold, but .?.?.’
Agneta tilts her glass and studies the blood-red orb of light in the dark wine for a moment before she drinks.
‘It’s a good job Hugo is at the clinic, then,’ she says.
‘Which reminds me: we haven’t talked about the latest hypnosis session yet,’ he says as he picks up his fork again.
‘I was there for the whole thing.’
‘How was he afterwards?’
‘Pretty good, I’d say. A little anxious at first, but I think the whole thing felt OK.’
‘Did they give him anything to calm his nerves again?’
‘No, there was no need.’
‘Good. So what happened?’
