Page 109 of Hidden in Memories
Ida turns onto her back and stares up at the ceiling. If she is no longer in love with her partner, what is going to happen?
Nothing is straightforward. They’re a family; they have a daughter together. She can’t simply walk away with Alice, especially given how much family life means to Daniel. He is so fixated on being a better parent than his own father was.
She doesn’t know if she can do that to him, take his daughter away from him for half of her childhood.
Can she do that to Alice?
But what are they going to build their future on if the attraction has gone? Is she supposed to go on living with a man she doesn’t want to have sex with?
Can she do that to herself?
Last winter, when Daniel was completely taken up with two major investigations, first the case of the missing teenage girl, then the murdered skier, something happened to their relationship. She felt alone, abandoned. The fact that he prioritized his work over her and Alice hurt her deeply.
It made her loathe his job.
With hindsight it was hardly surprising. Alice was only three months old when Amanda disappeared. Ida was a new mom, very anxious, and everything seemed so difficult. It was tough to be alone with a tiny baby when she was constantly afraid of doing something wrong. She was also worried that Daniel might get hurt, even killed. She imagined all kinds of scenarios, was terrified at the thought of being left alone as a single mom, worked herself up to a breaking point.
They had two serious crises during that investigation.
The first time Daniel got so stressed that he had an outburst of rage in the kitchen. In the end he hurled a plate at the wall and stormed out. His temper has improved, and he is seeing a therapist, but Ida can’t erase the memory of that evening.
The second time, during the next case, Ida became so desperate that she took Alice and moved back in with her mom. It felt like the only way out, although she was ashamed of behaving like a spoiled teenager.
She hears the sound of a car passing by outside the window. It is late, she must try to get some sleep.
Ida remembers how bad she felt last winter. The situation with Daniel’s job changed her; she became insecure and whined all the time—a person she didn’t recognize.
She doesn’t want to be that kind of partner. She misses her old self, the girl who stood on her own two feet and walked away when something didn’t suit her.
A new realization comes creeping in.
This time, when Daniel is away from home most of the time, she doesn’t feel the same anxiousness. Quite the reverse—it’s almost a relief when he isn’t here. She can do what she wants, and things are easier with Alice when Ida makes the decisions without having to compromise.
Facing the truth frightens her even more.
She is happier on her own than with Daniel.
86
The music coming from the discreet speakers at the Villa has moved on to a new playlist. Dorothy Moore has been replaced by the saxophonist John Coltrane. Hanna thinks she recognizes “My One and Only Love.”
Anton has taught her more about jazz than she realized. She must remember to thank him some time.
She and Henry are sitting quietly, but the atmosphere is relaxed and not at all awkward. Hanna is enjoying the lovely melody in the background as she considers what Henry has told her. She ought to go home, but while she’s here she wants to take the opportunity to ask about the assault at the mountain hotel in the seventies.
“On a completely different matter—I’d like to hear more about your winter vacations in Storlien. You said that your family and Charlotte’s used to celebrate Christmas and New Year’s together there.”
“We did.” He winks at her. “If it will make you stay a while longer, I’m happy to talk about those days.”
It seems as if Henry is flirting again. Hanna ought to find this irritating, but somehow it feels fine—possibly because he is being quite open about it. Or because he appears to be genuinely interested in her. He is nothing like the men she has met in the bar in Åre. Admittedly he is considerably older—twenty years or so—but he is still handsome and in good shape.
“So who was there?” she asks, ignoring the invitation.
“Let’s see ... This would be in the late sixties and early seventies. I think I was seven the last time we went there, which means Charlotte was eight.”
Hanna does a quick calculation in her head. If Henry was seven, that must have been the same year the assault took place, according to Leffe. It sounds too good to be a coincidence.
“Do you remember if anything unusual happened that Christmas?”
