The Double Silence (Andas Knutas 7)

looked like a young girl.
    Stina knew things about Andrea that no one except Sam knew. Her innermost and deepest thoughts.
    She would never forget the time when Stina’s own candour and sensitivity had made her reveal everything about herself. They were alone in Stina’s house. Both Håkan and Sam were out of town, and Stina had invited Andrea and her kids to dinner. The children had played noisily until they all fell into bed. Then Andrea and Stina had sat in front of the fireplace with a bottle of wine. They’d talked about life’s problems. About guilt and shame. And then, for the first time, Andrea had told someone other than Sam about her darkest secret. Stina’s face looked so soft in the glow from the fire; she had listened attentively and they had talked all night. Andrea had never felt so close to anyone before. Stina became the sister she might have had. She would always cherish their friendship. There were no barriers between them.
    Andrea shook off these thoughts. She was glad that in spite of everything she now had such a good life and such good friends. Their extended social circle included a dozen couples with children of more or less the same age. Within that circle was the core group, whose friendship was even stronger. It consisted of her and Sam, Håkan and Stina, John and Beata. Six adults who jointly had eight children, and it often felt as if the group was big enough. That was why they frequently held their own dinner parties and celebrations – something that the others in their social circle did not really like, just as they did not like being excluded from the trips that the three couples took together.
    She looked in the children’s rooms, and noted with pleasure that they had tidied things up before they left. Amazing that they’d become so neat and orderly. She affectionately pictured her children’s faces. In a not-so-distant future they would be moving away from home. Several of her acquaintances were already worrying about that prospect, when they would be alone in the house, at the dinner table, and in front of the TV inthe evening. That wasn’t something that bothered her. She and Sam often talked about everything they were going to do, all the trips and excursions they would take when they finally had plenty of time for each other. She longed to have her husband all to herself. Sometimes she even felt jealous when he laughed and talked too much with the kids. It felt as if he had forgotten about her. Occasionally it worried her that she was so envious, but she couldn’t help it.
    Their bedroom looked fine. She touched the handle to the balcony door; it was locked. Through the window she could see across the street, and she watched as Sam stowed their wellingtons and raincoats in the car. Later in the summer they were going to celebrate their twentieth wedding anniversary. She had secretly booked them flights to Florence. That was where they had got engaged, and this time they would be staying at the same hotel and having dinner at the same romantic restaurant where they had celebrated their engagement. She had even phoned the owner to make sure the restaurant would be open, and he had promised to seat them at the exact same table. Sam had no clue. She was taking along a special card that she would give to him when they were on Stora Karlsö. She had spent time drawing, cutting and pasting to make the card that would tell him all the details. He was going to be so surprised. She could hardly wait to see his expression when he opened the envelope. Several times she’d been on the verge of giving him a hint about what she was planning, but she had managed to stop herself at the last minute. Now she quickly went through the rest of the rooms to make sure all was in order. Everything had to be perfect when they left the house.
    Only then could she relax.

IT HAD RAINED steadily all day long. On his way home from work, Knutas turned his old Mercedes towards the Solberg swimming pool. He usually swam once a week during the winter months. Not as often during the summer, although there were few things he enjoyed as much as swimming. To cover lap after lap in the pool, metre after metre, was an undemanding type of therapy. The water infused him with calm, and he moved easily, at a leisurely pace, even though he was aware that he’d put on a few kilos. Whenever he encountered any problems, he gained weight. Eating was a consolation and a compensation; it gave him strength. Right