Shame

other end of the hall was an entrance towards what seemed to be the living room. She looked around carefully, not wanting to miss a single detail in her effort to get to know the woman who lived here. Her taste, her values, the sort of qualities she preferred in a friend. She would take as much time as was needed; the only hurry was to sort out the most dangerous traps. If Pernilla rejected her she would be lost.
    Pernilla was sitting on the sofa, leafing through a newspaper, seemingly without interest. Daniella was nowhere to be seen. On an old chest of drawers with a stripped finish stood a burning candle in a brass candlestick, and the glow fell over his broad smile. The photograph had been enlarged and put in a glossy gold frame. Monika looked down at the floor when he met her gaze, wanting to get out of his field of vision, but his accusing eyes had a view of the whole room. There was no escape. She could feel him watching her suspiciously and questioning her presence, but she would show him; over time he would learn that she was his ally and that he could trust her. That she wouldn’t deceive him again.
    Pernilla put down the newspaper on the chest of drawers and looked at her.
    ‘Seriously, I think we can manage by ourselves this evening. I mean if you’re short-staffed.’
    ‘No, there’s no danger of that. Absolutely none.’
    Monika wondered uneasily what was expected of her, what the others from the crisis group had done to make themselves useful. But she couldn’t think of anything before Pernilla went on.
    ‘I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but, to be quite honest, it’s beginning to be a bit tiresome always having strangers here in the flat. Nothing personal, of course.’
    Pernilla gave a little smile, as if to minimise her words, but the smile never reached her eyes.
    ‘I really think I need to be alone for a while.’
    Monika smiled back to conceal her desperation. Not now, not when she was so close.
    Then Pernilla threw out the lifeline that Monika so urgently needed.
    ‘But if you could just help me take down something in the kitchen before you go.’
    Monika felt the fear subside; all she needed was a way in, a little opening to be able to demonstrate the value of her presence. She gratefully accepted the assignment.
    ‘Of course, no problem, what is it?’
    Pernilla got up from the sofa and Monika noticed the grimace she made when her back straightened. Saw her twist her right shoulder forward in an attempt to be rid of the pain.
    ‘It’s the smoke alarm in the ceiling. The battery is going dead, so it keeps beeping.’
    Monika followed Pernilla into the kitchen. Quickly looked around to learn some more. Mostly things from Ikea, lots of pictures and notes on the refrigerator, some ceramic objects that looked home-made, three historical portraits in simple frames over the kitchen table. She resisted the temptation to go over to the refrigerator and read the notes. That would have to come later.
    Pernilla pulled out a chair and set it underneath the smoke alarm.
    ‘I have a problem with my back, and raising my arm above my head is simply impossible.’
    Monika climbed up on the chair.
    ‘What sort of problem do you have with your back?’
    An attempt to break the ice. They didn’t know each other. Starting now Monika would forget everything she already knew.
    ‘I was in an accident five years ago. A diving accident.’
    Monika twisted the alarm box off the holder.
    ‘That sounds serious.’
    ‘Yes, it was, but I’m better now.’
    Pernilla fell silent. Monika handed her the alarm. Pernilla picked out the battery and went over to the counter. When she opened the cupboard Monika glimpsed cleaning supplies and a pull-out recycling bin.
    Pernilla turned round and Monika realised that she was expecting her to leave now that she had finished her task. But she hadn’t finished. Not by a long shot. Monika turned to the portraits on the wall.
    ‘What a lovely portrait of Sofia Magdalena. It was Carl Gustav Pilo who painted it, wasn’t it?’
    She could see that Pernilla was surprised.
    ‘Yes, it could be. I’m not really sure.’
    Pernilla went over to the portrait to check whether there was a signature, but apparently couldn’t find one. She turned to Monika again.
    ‘Are you interested in art?’
    Monika smiled.
    ‘No, not in art particularly, but in history. Especially the history of Sweden. You pick up a few artists’ names in the process. I go through periods when I get