Unspoken

a row.
    The only audible sound was the sweep of the broom across the stable floor and the grinding jaws of the horses as they chewed their evening oats. Calm had settled in after the hectic race day. Fanny Jansson was sweeping with brisk, rhythmic strokes. Her body ached after all the hard work, and when she was done, she sank down onto a feed box outside Regina’s stall. The horse peered out, and Fanny stuck her hand through the bars to stroke the horse’s nose.
    The slender, dark-skinned girl was alone in the stable. She had declined an invitation to join the others at a local restaurant to celebrate the end of the season. She could just imagine how rowdy it was bound to get. Worse than usual. She had been there several times before but didn’t enjoy it. The horse owners would drink too much and try to hit on her. They called her “princess,” pulled her onto their laps, and pinched her on the rear.
    Some got bolder the more they drank. They would make comments about her body, both verbally and with their eyes. They were a pack of dirty old men.
    She yawned, but she had no desire to bike home, either. Not really. Her mother had the day off from her job, and there was a good chance that she was drunk. If she was alone she would be sitting on the sofa with her mouth turned down in a sullen frown, with a bottle of wine in front of her. As usual, Fanny would feel guilty because she hadn’t spent the day with her mother instead of with the horses. Her mother couldn’t care less that it was a race day with tons of work to do. Nor did she understand that Fanny needed to get away from home. The stable was her lifeline. If she didn’t have the horses, she didn’t know what she would do.
    Uneasiness seized her as she imagined an even worse scenario: that her mother might not be alone. If her so-called boyfriend, Jack, was there, they would get even drunker, and Fanny would have a hard time sleeping.
    Tomorrow she had to be at school early, and she needed to get some sleep. Ninth grade was a torment that she wanted to get through as fast as possible. Fanny had tried to do her best when the term started, but things just kept getting worse. She was having a hard time concentrating, and she had started cutting classes fairly often. She just couldn’t face it.
    She had enough troubles outside of school.

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 12
    A bubble of saliva had formed at the corner of his mouth. With each exhalation it grew bigger until it burst and dribbled down his chin and onto the pillowcase.
    The room was very bright. The blinds were rolled up and the dirty streaks on the windowpane were clearly visible. On the windowsill stood a solitary pot with an African violet that had long since perished.
    Henry Dahlström slowly regained consciousness as the urgent ringing of the phone cut through the thick silence. The sound echoed off the walls in the shabby two-room apartment, persisting until it finally won out over sleep. Disconnected thoughts popped up in his mind, relentlessly bringing him back to reality. He had a vague feeling of happiness but couldn’t remember what it was from.
    The headache started the minute he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Cautiously he sat up. His vision blurred the pattern of the bedspread. Thirst made him get to his feet and stagger out to the kitchen. The floor swayed beneath him. He leaned against the door frame and looked at the chaos.
    The kitchen cupboards stood wide open and the counter was covered with dirty glasses and plates, as well as scraps of food. There was burned coffee in the glass pot of the coffeemaker. Someone had dropped a plate on the floor. He could make out the remnants of fried herring and mashed potatoes among the pieces of china. On the kitchen table, beer cans were crowded together with liquor bottles, an overflowing ashtray, and a stack of racing cards.
    Suddenly he remembered why he should be happy. He had brought home the jackpot as the sole winner of all five races. The sum was breathtaking, at least for him. Over eighty thousand kronor had been paid out to him, in cash, and gone straight into his pockets. He had never before had so much money in his possession.
    His eyes flicked anxiously up and down over the half-empty cupboards. Surely he’d had enough sense to hide the money. If only none of the others . . . No, he refused to believe that. Although when it came to liquor or money, you never could tell.
    He pushed aside the thought and tried to recall what