The Boy at the Door Read online

  ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’d like to have breakfast with my daughters, and then I’m going to go down to Laila Fucking Engebretsen’s office and get Tobias back.’

  ‘Cecilia, it isn’t going to work. They have access to your medical journals. Social services is never going to give us Tobias while you are undergoing psychiatric treatment and are medicated on lithium, among other things.’

  ‘Wait and see.’ I step out of the car, taken aback by the bitingly cold air. Less than ten days until Christmas, and they have removed Tobias from our family and placed him in another temporary foster family, or worse, an institution. I turn back to Johan, who just looks forlorn and stressed, grabbing my holdall from the back seat. I could open my mouth and say the words – the words that would change everything.

  ‘Johan,’ I say, and he looks up. ‘I... I’m sorry I screamed at you. I just... I feel like Tobias has been a good addition to our family. Hell, maybe we should even talk about applying for permanent custody of him.’

  ‘Cecilia, I would. But they won’t let us, not now. No way.’ I open my mouth to let them out, the impossible words, but in the exact same moment I am about to speak, I remember the yogamumsandefjord email. I have to check it, right now.

  *

  Trying to behave like a vaguely normal person when you are sedated and upset about the fact that a small boy has been removed from your care is impossible. I try to log in to [email protected] but keep getting the same message – ‘account disabled’. Did I delete the account? My thoughts are sparse, obscure and darting about – I just can’t remember. I’m trying to determine when the last time I checked the account was – it was after Hemsedal but before the pool, and there definitely hadn’t been a response then. I don’t understand how that is possible – anyone would have responded to that email at the first opportunity. What if he didn’t get it? What if it isn’t really him? I close the computer and blink back tears. I should never have sent that email in the first place, but I can’t determine whether no response is a good or bad thing. And now I’ll have to live forever with not knowing. I might be clearer than I was a few days ago, but I’m still confused, especially about how I can solve this situation without ruining everyone’s lives. I run into Tobias’s room, and Luelle is there, dusting, though it is already spotlessly clean.

  ‘Ah, Mrs Cecilia, did you have a nice holiday?’ she asks. I nod. ‘Shall I... shall I take the sheets off the bed? Mr Wilborg told me to leave the room for the time being and to ask you when you came back...’

  ‘No. No, leave them. For when Tobias comes back.’ Luelle nods and gives me a kind, small smile.

  The girls are on their iPads, but for once, I’m thankful. Every now and again Hermine looks up from the screen at me, and then quickly away when I notice her. I sit in my favorite chair by the window and drink Earl Gray. The harbor is busy, with both Color Line and Fjord Line loading their ferries, gushing black smoke into the white sky. Their chimneys are strung with fairy lights and the fjord is covered in patches of ice. I’ve taken my pill, and I feel fine. The voices subsided after a couple of days, but I must now live in fear of them suddenly starting up again, screaming abuse into my ears from inside my own head. The doctors said that with trauma, these things can happen and it doesn’t mean you’re crazy, though they didn’t use the c-word. Permanently destabilized, they said.

  I have a hot shower, but as soon as I step under the jet of rushing water, I am reminded of those terrible moments at the pool, when I was throwing up water, thinking it was blood, and feeling my control of myself slip away like stray droplets scarpering for the drain. I step back out of the cubicle, though I still have frothy shampoo on my head. How will I manage to live this new life, knowing that I’m nuts? Is this what it was like for Anni – that one bad thing happened and then that led to another bad thing, until everything was completely shit? And how can it be that I so badly miss someone I never wanted in the first place?

  *

  ‘Laila Engebretsen is unfortunately unavailable,’ says the young, acne-ridden woman behind the desk at Sandefjord social services desk.

  ‘Where is she?’ I ask.

  ‘She’s in a meeting.’

  ‘Here? In this building?’

  ‘Well, yes, but she can’t be disturbed while she’s in there.’

  ‘I think you’ll find that she can. Could you please go and tell her that Cecilia Wilborg needs to see her right now, or I will call the police.’ She rises slowly, like she doesn’t understand the meaning of ‘right now’, looking at me apprehensively, but I slam my handbag down on the reception desk so hard she jumps and scurries off down the corridor. Through the glass doors, I can see Johan waiting in the car. He wanted to come in with me, but I made it very clear that he’s more likely to get a date with a Hadid sister. A moment later, the young receptionist returns with Laila, whose face is etched with worry, and her customary sad half smile. I want her to look angry and shout that I can’t just barge in here, but she just looks sympathetic, because now she knows that I’m craaazy.

  ‘Come, Cecilia,’ she says, and takes hold of my elbow, guiding me towards her office a couple of doors down. I do my very best to maintain my usual cool, calm expression – this bitch sure as hell isn’t going to throw me. I have a sudden memory of her at school, standing alone at the edge of the playground by the fence, staring out at the fields, occasionally being whacked intentionally by the skipping rope of one of the girls playing nearby, who never let her join in. That girl, quite often, was me.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ asks Laila with what would appear to be genuine concern.

  ‘Never been better,’ I retort, but I know I have to play this right to beat this bitch once and for all. ‘Look, I know you’ve heard about what happened to me. I understand that it’s your job to protect Tobias, and ensure that he is in the care of capable and nurturing adults. He’s been doing very well in our family, and though I wouldn’t have imagined it, I think it has benefitted all of us to have him around. We’d like for Tobias to be returned to our family as soon as possible, and I’m also willing to discuss the possibility of us becoming his permanent family.’ Laila nods as I speak, but slowly and sadly, as though she’s trying to prepare me for the fact that whatever I say, her response will be ‘No’.

  ‘Cecilia, I’m very happy you came to see me. And I’m so glad you are feeling better. I can only imagine what an overwhelming time you have had recently, and it’s only human to fall apart sometimes. I’m afraid, however, that there is no possibility of returning Tobias to your family.’

  ‘And why is that, exactly?’

  ‘Like you said yourself, Cecilia, it is my job to ensure he is taken care of in a stable environment. It is strictly against our guidelines to allow a child to remain in a short-term foster home if one adult is sectioned under the Mental Health Act, or receives anti-psychotic medication.’

  ‘What about all the children who live in their own families who have a parent with a temporary problem which is being managed successfully? Does social services show up at the door and take those kids away?’

  ‘I’m sure we can agree that’s rather different.’

  ‘Why is it different? We are the only family Tobias has now.’

  ‘Cecilia, we are working very hard at the moment to find a permanent, suitable family for this child. I can assure you that we will not hand him over to anyone who isn’t considered a very good match for him.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.’

  ‘He’s in an institution, isn’t he?’

  ‘Cecilia, I am not authorized to tell you where Tobias is.’

  ‘It’s Christmas in just over a week and you’ve stuck a traumatized nine-year-old in a fucking orphanage! There always was something wrong with you...’

  Same sad smile, composed expression, ugly purple glasses teetering on the bridge of a long, thin nose.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to as
k you to leave. There are strict regulations about the treatment of social services staff, and it is illegal to physically or verbally abuse any staff member...’

  ‘Listen to me, Laila,’ I say, and my heart begins to pound very hard in my chest. I didn’t say the words earlier, but I will now – I knew it as soon as I walked through the door. I will stop at nothing. ‘You are going to tell me where Tobias is, and then you are going to return him to my family. Okay? That way, I can return to taking care of my family, and you can return to eating or whatever it is you do here all day. If you don’t, I’m going to have no choice but to contact my lawyer and file a police report against you and Sandefjord social services.’

  ‘Cecilia, please. I am not trying to upset you, I...’

  ‘You’re not upsetting me! You’re breaking the law!’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Quick glance towards the closed door. She’s afraid.

  ‘I’m Tobias’s mother.’ A stunned silence hangs between us, and Laila exhales hard several times.

  ‘Look. I’ve been trying to tell you that I’m very sympathetic that things have been hard for you recently. And I am very pleased that you bonded with Tobias, he will have benefitted from that. But...’

  ‘I’m his biological mother, Laila.’ I burst into tears, not only because it’s true, but because I’ve finally said it out loud. ‘If you don’t believe me, why don’t you commission a DNA test?’ Laila nods, but weakly now, and that ugly half smile is finally gone from her face. She picks up the phone.

  Part 3

  Annika L., Krakow, October 2013

  When you think about most women who have gone from having an okay life to having a terrible life, or worse, if they end up dead, it is usually because of some man. Women who get beaten or killed aren’t usually abused by their female friends – it’s always the lover, isn’t it? When I was Oliver’s girlfriend, I was sometimes bored. Often, I’ll be honest. He was sweet and normal, but the things that excited him were things like magazines about power tools and watching ice hockey, so we didn’t have that much in common. Perhaps because only one thing has ever excited me. Sometimes I was also sad when I was with him, because I felt alone, and it is actually worse to feel alone when you are with somebody else than when you’re really alone. But I was never afraid. With Krysz I am, all the time, but on the upside, I’m never bored and I never feel alone.

  When I first arrived in Krakow, I decided to try to help some of the many junkies I’d seen lying slumped in doorways and on park benches. It felt wrong to walk past them in my new, clean clothes and give them a friendly smile, showing off my even white dental veneers. I’d been there, right there on the bare ground, and I’d sworn to myself I’d never forget it. One early evening I walked from this bedsit on Wygoda Street, along the river and then across it, to Bednarskiego Park. It was getting dark, and most of the daytime park-dwellers had gone home, leaving a few dogs and their owners, and the junkies emerging from the shadows. I approached a couple of girls my own age who stood underneath a stone bridge, chain-smoking and rubbing their gloved hands together against the cold.

  ‘Hi,’ I said in English, and they turned slowly towards me, narrowing empty eyes.

  ‘Buy?’ asked one, and I shook my head.

  ‘My name is Anni,’ I said. ‘I... I just wanted to talk to you.’ The girls stared at me, and I realized how crazy it seemed to just walk up to a couple of drug addicts in a park for a chat.

  ‘Policja?’ asked the younger of the two, a skinny brunette with a chunky nose ring and heavy eyeliner.

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘not policja. I just want to talk.’

  ‘Talk?’ The second girl spat the word out, and it occurred to me that they might rob me. I glanced quickly around me, cursing myself for having been so stupid, but there was no one nearby, just the charcoal silhouette of a man in the distance.

  ‘Yes. I wanted to talk to you.’

  ‘Fuck you,’ said the brunette, and they both began to laugh, turning away from me. The older of the girls turned back around after a minute, and when she saw me still standing there, she lifted her eyebrow and threw her hands up in the air, presumably to someone behind me. I turned around, and there stood a tall man with sandy blond hair and expressive dark eyes. He was thin, unlike so many of the men I’d met in Poland so far, who seemed to subsist entirely on pork dumplings, but not gaunt like a drug addict. He looked at me with a serious expression, not hostile, but not exactly friendly either.

  ‘What are you looking for?’ he asked, in heavily accented English. There was something about his eyes; an intensity in them, which made me feel even more nervous than I already was.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I... It’s stupid. It’s just, I used to be a heroin and crystal meth addict and I managed to get clean. I wanted to see if I can help someone, or...’ The man laughed, and the girls began to titter again, too, though I doubted they’d understood anything I said.

  ‘Did you find Jesus Christ or something?’ he asked, and the girls laughed simply at the mocking tone in his voice.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I said, but the man took a quick step to his left, blocking my way.

  ‘Svenska?’ he asked. Are you Swedish? I nodded. ‘I spent nine years in Gothenburg,’ he continued in Swedish, which was much better than his English.

  ‘Listen, walk with me,’ he said, and started off down the path in the direction he’d come from. I could have made a run for it then, and might have made it to the gates before he managed to catch up with me, but there was something about the man that drew me in and made me want to speak with him.

  ‘Fuck bitch,’ I heard one of the girls shout after me as I followed the man down one of the lanes, which was completely deserted by now.

  Suddenly he turned around and faced me. ‘Look, I can’t have you showing up here and offering to help any of my customers, do you understand?’

  ‘I... Sorry.’ He watched me intently, as though trying to figure out whether I had some more serious intentions, but seemed to decide I was harmless, as he strangely raised his fist in the air and motioned for me to touch it against my own, like they do in American high school movies.

  ‘Bye,’ he said, and started walking away from me, my fist still held in the air.

  ‘Wait!’ I said, and half ran a couple of steps after him. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m somebody you want to stay well away from if you used to be on smack and managed to get yourself clean.’

  ‘I’ll never touch it again,’ I said, ‘No matter what.’

  He nodded seriously. ‘I’m Krysz,’ he said.

  ‘We could drink coffee or something,’ I said, and even in that moment, I knew that this was one of those wrong turns, one moment’s lapse of judgment, that can lead to your whole world breaking apart. How right I was. But there was something about his eyes that suggested kindness, or sympathy, or maybe there wasn’t, and I just told myself that because in his presence my skin began to prickle with a wild heat. Krysz laughed, and stuck his arm out for me to take.

  I’m writing about this because women like me, we should always write down what is done to us, not because we might one day want to read about it, but because it may save our lives. Or someone else’s, if they find it and read it after he’s done away with you.

  *

  Unfortunately, Krysz is the smartest person I know. He didn’t suddenly say, Oh, here you go, Anni. Why don’t you get back on the heroin? He broke me down slowly and so subtly that when everything I’d built up for myself was slipping from me anyway, all he had to do was one terrible thing to get me begging him for the one thing in the world I didn’t need. It has been almost a year since I met Krysz now, four months since I shot up again, and one month since I left my bedsit and my studies, and went to live with him in his campervan. How could I do this to myself, I ask myself every single day, but the answer is very simple, like the truth often is. I fell in love. From that first evening in the park to later that night when Krysz stayed over at mine, to the delirious da
ys and weeks that followed, I was head-over-heels infatuated. It was like I came alive every time he touched me, it was better than anything I’ve ever known, even better than the cleanest, hardest hit of smack.

  It only vaguely bothered me that my new boyfriend was a drug dealer; I reasoned it didn’t have anything to do with me, because back in those days I was still completely certain that for me, there would be no way back. It didn’t occur to me that I had placed myself in a world where no one lives peacefully, where love is nothing but a cruel illusion, with a man who could only ever be my executioner.

  Krysz lives in a purple VW campervan which he parks in various quiet streets off the canal, and now I live here with him. It might be a strange place for a drug dealer who makes good money to live, but Krysz has a five-year-old daughter, Magdalena, who lives in Sweden with her mother, and who has a blood disease that could kill her. Krysz saves almost all his money so she can go to America and get stem cells from somebody else because it is the only thing that will save her. Next year Krysz and I are going home to Sweden so we can give Magdalena the money, but sometimes I dream about not going with him, because it isn’t like it was before anymore. At the time it seemed to me that it started without any warning, none at all, but now I know it isn’t true. Before that first terrible night in January, Krysz had been acting differently for a while. He’d be loving and affectionate one moment, and cool and disinterested the next. Sometimes he’d criticize me in a cruel way, saying things like, You are dirty inside and out, junkie whore so many times I’d burst out of the van, clutching my shoes or jacket or whatever, running down an empty street in the middle of the night, towards my bedsit, Krysz shouting mean things after me. Now, of course, I have nowhere to go.

  Even at the beginning I knew that Krysz worked most nights in a club where girls dance naked and that kind of thing. I’d never been, and back then, I was still spending all the time I wasn’t spending with Krysz on my studies. I preferred to ignore the details of his business, focusing instead on the fact that he was only doing bad things to make enough money for Magdalena to go to America. When she gets better, he’s going to sell used cars to people, because that’s what he did before.