Page 185 of The Sleepwalker
‘You’re incredible,’ Bernard tells her, putting down his glass.
‘Pff. I’m an OK journalist, and I’ve got a good memory. I can put things in context, and I’ve got good deductive skills.’
‘You’ve got a good everything. Good mind, good heart, good body.Incrediblethighs .?.?.’
They kiss, light-heartedly at first, then more passionately. Agneta wraps her arms around his neck, and Bernard pulls her close.
‘What’s happening here?’ she jokes.
Bernard’s warm hands caress the base of her spine, moving down to her bottom and thighs. He lifts her up – says, ‘Ow, my back’ – and sits her down on the edge of the table.
Agneta laughs and hikes up her skirt. He tugs her knickers down and leaves them hanging around her ankles as he unbuttons his trousers. She leans back on her elbows and parts her legs, kicking her knickers away and sighing as he enters her.
63
The wind roars in the extractor fan as it pummels the house, picking up snow from the expanses of flat roof.
Nina Silverstedt is in her spacious kitchen on the top floor of the villa, with her video camera, lights and reflector all set up and ready. Through the large window, she gazes out across the terrace and the pool area to the frozen bay.
The architect designed the house to be split over a number of levels, and thanks to the angled glass walls and floor-to-ceiling windows, she can see much of the ground floor from where she is standing.
The stovetop is almost invisible on the dark-grey marble island behind her, and her ramen are already cold in the Demeyere pan.
She filmed herself frying the mushrooms and leek in sesame oil two hours ago in order to give her eyes a chance to stop watering before she got started on the rest of the takes.
Nina is in the middle of producing a video for Ten-Green-Min, a fast-growing company that sells easy-cook vegetarian meals made from local and organic produce.
She has written a script in which, as usual, she seems to spontaneously bring up her stressful but luxurious lifestyle. Nina has always been good at planning ahead, particularly when it comes to sponsored posts. This particular video isn’t due to golive for another two weeks, the same day she will be attending a charity gala, and she has managed to seamlessly integrate that into the script.
Nina takes a slight step to the left. Through the swirling snow, she sees her husband coming up the stairs from the gym in the basement. She waves, but he doesn’t see her. He has been working out, and his T-shirt is sweaty. She knows he has a board meeting on Kungsgatan in two hours, but he heads straight through the hall to the bar in the lounge to grab an energy drink.
Nina Silverstedt is thirty-five and works as a lifestyle influencer, and has been at the very top of her game in terms of followers and engagement for the past five years.
According to her script, she needs to talk about the dress she will be wearing to the gala with an almost childish sense of excitement, after first telling her subscribers how sweet her husband was when he woke her with a coffee and a red rose that morning.
He knows exactly what she needs in darkest midwinter.
In reality, he was already on a phone call when her alarm clock went off. He never reads her posts and has no idea that she dreams of him giving her a rose.
They have been married for three years now.
Frank is a fund manager and the sole reason they are able to live the way they do. Nina makes a decent amount of money herself, of course, but it is only a fraction of what he earns.
On her social media channels, she presents a lavish vision of her lifestyle, with paid posts about interior design, travel, fashion, jewellery and makeup. But she would never have made it this far if she didn’t also share a more intimate, vulnerable side of herself, balancing the more superficial content. She regularly talks to her followers about the fears she has for her son and the deep depressions she sinks into at the thought of not being able to provide what he needs, of not being a good enough mum.
She and Frank were dating when she found out she was pregnant. They got married around the seven-month mark, and she went into labour eight weeks before her due date, during their honeymoon to Dubai. Young Maximus has delayed psychomotor development, and needs help with almost everything.
There are times when she wonders whether Frank’s lack of interest in her is down to his disappointment in Maximus. He left his previous wife, and has two adult children that he never sees, so maybe the whole thing is just a pattern. Maybe he is gearing up to leave her, too.
Nina doesn’t normally try the sponsored products she promotes, but she made the mistake of giving one of the vegetarian meals a chance the day before yesterday. It was practically inedible, but she issoclose to sounding believable when – with a laugh – she tells her viewers that she needs to stop filming now, to spare them from having to watch her wolf down the incredible ramen from Ten-Green-Min.
Nina puffs a little smoke across the bowl of soup and checks the set-up on her computer. With the artfully laid table, the window and some of the ground floor visible in the background, it looks great.
The plan is to start the take with her pretending she has just finished a session in the gym, in a white vest and a pair of black trousers from Juicy Couture. In actual fact, she exercised earlier, and will have to do some press-ups on the kitchen floor to get her blood pumping again. She might even have to add a little oil to her skin to give herself that post-workout glow.
She turns on the lamps, checks the computer screen again and measures the light levels beside the carton showing the company’s logo. She then pulls a lock of hair down over her forehead so that she can push it back while she is talking, starts the camera, and steps into frame to record a quick test video.
‘I swear, this stuff tastes like shit, but that’s fine because I’m planning to have a big juicy burger instead – though I’m so fucking scared of putting on weight I’ll probably puke it straight up again as soon as I’m done,’ she says with a smile.
