Chapter 30
Ambra couldn’t get over the fact that Tom Lexington was actually flirting with her. That smile . . . It was so rare, the effect was even more powerful. When Tom smiled, she just wanted to snuggle into his arms and rub herself all over him. It was rather undignified, that he had that effect on her. She should have known they would bump into each other; Kiruna wasn’t all that big. She had even thought about getting in touch. But so much about Tom was complicated, and she already had enough drama in her life. But then Freja spotted her, and now Tom was here, being handsome and overwhelming, wanting to eat dinner with her. She didn’t have anything planned for that evening, or any other evening in Kiruna for that matter. Going to dinner with Tom sounded like a great idea.
Though it might also sound like the dumbest thing she could do.
God, she shouldn’t trick herself into thinking they could just be friends, that she could handle this. But, of course, she found herself nodding yes.
“Six o’clock, outside the hotel,” she said.
“Great. See you then. Try not to freeze to death before that. Freja, come!” His voice was commanding and his movements firm. His entire being seemed bigger and more powerful than last time, and the breath caught in her chest. This was so gloriously dangerous. She forced herself to look relaxed and waved to him and Freja, ridiculously happy that they would be meeting again that evening.
* * *
She kept walking, to Café Safari, the small, yellow wooden building where she was meeting Elsa. As soon as she stepped inside, joining the throngs of tourists, Elsa appeared and gave her a long, warm hug. They made small talk in the line and then each ordered a slice of smörgåstårta—Swedish sandwich cake, layers of white bread, mayonnaise, shrimps, salmon, and veggies—and coffee.
“You can’t get smörgåstårta in coffee shops anywhere in Stockholm,” Ambra said happily. She loved the savory delicacy.
“Can you manage something sweet too?” Elsa asked.
“Always,” Ambra replied, choosing a chubby piece of princess cake. Elsa picked a chocolate cake and placed it on the tray. They sat down upstairs, by one of the windows looking out onto the mountains and a last hint of the pinkish sun.
“When does your train leave?” Ambra asked, delving into the layers of prawns, mayonnaise, and sliced cucumber.
“Not until two-thirty.” Elsa was going to visit a friend. Ambra suspected this friend was a new love, because Elsa looked incredibly chic with her colorful scarf and newly set hair. She brought a big piece of smörgåstårta to her mouth. It was both gratifying and a little depressing that a ninety-two-year-old woman seemed to have more momentum in her love life than she did.
As they ate, they talked about Elsa’s son, the number of tourists, and the snow festival at the end of January. Ambra went to fetch more coffee.
“Thank you, dear,” Elsa said.
“People should eat cake more often,” Ambra said as she cut into the green marzipan and whipped cream with her spoon.
“Yes. Cakes and chocolate. Ingrid always said chocolate was proof of God’s existence.”
“Are you a believer?”
“Sometimes. Maybe.” Elsa stirred her coffee, seemed to be thinking about something. “I asked around a little, about the Sventins. Those girls you saw—they aren’t their grandkids.”
“So they’re foster kids?” Ambra had been hoping to hear the opposite. She put down her spoon.
“Yes.”
“Jesus. I thought, hoped, that they were too old. This is a scandal.”
“Yes.” Elsa gave Ambra a concerned look. “I don’t know whether I should tell you this . . . But Esaias Sventin is giving a sermon today. At the church.”
“He is? Kiruna Church?” So he had become a Laestadian preacher. That didn’t surprise her; he was strict and unforgiving—it suited him perfectly.
Elsa nodded. “I don’t know how they can allow it, how that sect can be allowed to use Swedish Church property, I mean, but he is.” She looked down at her little wristwatch. “In thirty minutes. Do you want to go?”
Did she? Listening to his hateful voice. She had no choice, not really. She nodded.
“I’ll come with you,” said Elsa.
* * *
Ambra was tense with nerves as she and Elsa approached the red church a short while later. She held open the door for Elsa, and they sat down at the very back. The dark, uncomfortable pews filled up with people. Women in long skirts and kerchiefs, their hair tied up. Men in simple, austere clothing. Pale children. Ambra’s palms were sweating, her shoulders tense.
There were no lights on in the church, and the visitors sat on the benches in silence, their heads bowed, as though waiting for damnation. She studied their tense faces and was struck by the sense that they were all insane. Some argued that Laestadianism was a beautiful Christian community, that it was about a wholesome, simple life and love. But to her it was nothing but the evil and madness that, as a child, she had only barely survived.
And then he came in.
Esaias Sventin.
Just thinking his name made her retch.
She watched him as he passed. He looked older. When she’d lived with him, he was in his thirties, just a few years older than she was today. The Laestadians married young. Some daughters were betrothed when they were just nine. Esaias now had streaks of gray in his short hair. He wore black trousers and a black jacket, a white shirt without a tie. Wearing a tie was a sign of male vanity. He looked out at the congregation. Would he notice her? Could he feel she was here?
“Want to leave?” Elsa whispered beside her. Ambra heard her as though through a fog. She was having trouble breathing, clutching her gloves tight in one hand. She shook her head. Esaias opened his mouth, and his voice—which had also aged—echoed across the church hall.
“Laughter is the instrument of the devil,” he began. She recognized those words, had heard them over and over again.
“Temptation is everywhere. The devil and his demons are everywhere. Sin is everywhere,” he continued.
This constant obsession with driving out the devil, sins that had to be atoned for. He used to force her to eat. Rakel served huge portions, and when Ambra couldn’t manage everything, he would force her to eat and eat until she threw up. “Those are the devil’s demons coming out of her,” he would say.
There were variations on how the demons and sins were meant to leave her body. “Wash away the sin,” he might say as he dragged her over to the sink, filled it with ice-cold water, and pushed her into it until she thought she was about to die. Living in that house was like walking on eggshells, always being afraid, never knowing when they would crack. “Burn out the devil with pain,” he would say as he struck her with a belt. If she closed her eyes, she could still remember the terror and the shame.
She sat perfectly still on the bench, didn’t want to relive those memories, didn’t want to be here anymore. Esaias’s voice roared in her ears. As an adult, she could see he was crazy, but she was still shaken by the memories that came flooding back to her.
“Ambra?” Elsa’s voice was trying to reach her, but Ambra could barely hear, the roar in her ears was so loud.
“Come on. Let’s go, this was a mistake,” Elsa said encouragingly.
Ambra nodded and gathered her things. They got up. Ambra made the mistake of looking over at Esaias one last time. The movement must have caught his attention. He always did have eyes like a hawk, reacting to the smallest of movements. He caught sight of her, straight across the church hall. His lips moved, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying.
He stared at her.
Flickers started to appear at the edge of her field of vision, the air left the room, her throat tightened.
“Come on, Ambra,” she heard Elsa say. She felt the old lady’s hand clasp hers and pull her away from the row of pews.
“Sinners and whores! They are everywhere!” Esaias’s words roared after her as she fled.
When Ambra reached the steps, she paused for a moment to catch her breath.
“I shouldn’t have suggested it,” Elsa said with remorse.
“It’s not your fault. It’s his,” she said doggedly. He was crazy. And two children were now experiencing the same hell she had once been subjected to.
They walked slowly toward the train station in silence.
Ambra waved good-bye to Elsa, waited until she saw the train leave, and then allowed herself to react. She was shaking like a leaf. Jesus, what a day. And she still had her meeting with social services to go. She definitely deserved to be taken to dinner after this.
* * *
“Hi, I’m Lotta,” said a woman wearing a silver cross around her neck when Ambra registered at reception a while later.
“Ambra Vinter. Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.”
Lotta wore the same tense expression that Ambra had seen on countless social workers. A woman Ambra once interviewed, an experienced manager in one of the country’s most socially challenging areas, called the process that most social workers went through “vision meets reality.” They were constantly experiencing burnout, or worse: becoming cynical, hardened, or indifferent. Many took sick leave or resigned, which only led to an even greater burden on those left behind, who were given more and more cases with increasingly limited resources. It was a depressing, endless downward spiral.
They sat down in Lotta’s room, which was full of journals, files, and stacks of paper. Documents about suffering, children needing help, and families. Ambra said no to coffee. The dark atmosphere of the room was already affecting her. Lotta placed one palm on a stack of documents, as though to reassure herself that they were still there. Or maybe to prevent Ambra from launching herself at them and starting to snoop. There was a withered hyacinth on the window ledge, competing for room with yet more papers. Ambra wondered whether Lotta met the children she worked with in this room, or whether they went somewhere more welcoming.
“You asked about the Sventin family. I can’t discuss individual cases, but what I can say is that to date we haven’t received any complaints.” Lotta pursed her lips.
Her words almost sounded rehearsed. But social services and the press often found themselves on a collision course. It didn’t necessarily mean she had anything to hide.
Ambra tried to look as reflective and understanding as she could. “I understand, you’re bound by confidentiality. But they do still have foster children? That can’t be confidential.”
“I can’t comment on that.”
“But is it correct that they have two girls right now? Who aren’t their biological children?” she persisted.
Lotta opened her mouth, but before she had time to speak, the door opened. A nearly bald man appeared in the doorway. He had a few wisps of white hair combed across his scalp, and his face was flushed. He gave Ambra a stern look. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lotta virtually shrink back behind the table.
Not a good sign.
“What’s she doing here?” he asked.
Ambra got up and held out her hand. “My name is Ambra Vinter. I’m a reporter with Aftonbladet. Are you in charge here?”
He didn’t offer his hand, of course. “I’m Ingemar Borg, and I’m the manager here. Why are you here? You have no right to be here.”
“I’m just asking routine questions. I’m not looking to harass anyone,” she continued as calmly as she could.
“You’re the one asking questions about the Sventin family, aren’t you? You should know that they meet all the criteria for a family home. They’re experienced and have made a real contribution for over twenty years now. They’re specialists in children no one else wants.”
Well, he had no concerns about confidentiality, at least. “You make them sound like saints.” Ambra had trouble keeping the acid tone from her voice.
The man took a step toward her. “I recognize you.”
“I work for Aftonbladet, as I said. Maybe you saw my byline?”
“No. I know you. What was your name? Ambra. You lived with them, didn’t you? I remember all our kids. You were one of them. Lied and ran away. What are you up to? Are you even here for the paper?” He took another step toward her.
She didn’t remember him at all. But she was a child back then, and the majority of adults were just anonymous, uncaring strangers.
“Make sure she leaves,” he said to Lotta, whom Ambra saw nod out of the corner of her eye. He turned on his heel and left, the door still wide open.
Lotta swallowed and swallowed. She clutched the little silver cross around her neck. “I’m new here,” she said in a stifled voice. “I should never have agreed to this meeting. He’s right, we never had any formal complaints.”
“But?”
Lotta gave her a pleading look. “I can’t risk my job. I need to ask you to leave. I’m completely snowed under with work. This was a mistake.”
“I’m leaving. Thanks anyway.”
“Is it true, what he said? You lived with them?”
Ambra gathered her things and pulled at her scarf. “You have my number. Call whenever you like. If you want to talk.”
“But what do you want from us?”
Ambra looked at the terrified social worker in the crowded, depressing room. “For no one else to go through what I did,” she said, and left the room.
* * *
Ambra walked back to the hotel. It was dark, and the air was so cold that it stung her nose whenever she breathed in. Shivering, she hurried to her room and took a long, hot shower.
She applied some lipstick and filled in her eyebrows; she was fond of her bold brows. And her dimples. She put on a little eyeshadow and hoped the haunted expression she saw on her face would disappear during the course of the evening.
Just before six, she went down to the lobby. At one minute to the hour, she saw Tom’s huge black car pull up outside the hotel. She liked that he was on time.
He leaned over and opened the passenger side door from the inside. Ambra jumped in and sank into the luxurious leather seats. She turned her head and looked into his dark, dark eyes. Today had been a strange day, and her defenses were down. Who was Tom Lexington, really? A nice, normal guy she was attracted to? A crazy ex-soldier? Could a person be both? She was well aware that the dumbest thing she could do would be to cross some kind of professional line with him—which, technically speaking, she already had. Every instinct she had was screaming at her. This was a potentially dangerous man with far too many secrets.
But she didn’t have the energy to be sensible. Not today. She had survived Esaias Sventin. She could probably survive one dinner with Tom.
“Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m looking forward to tonight,” she said honestly.
“Me too.” He tore off, and the snow sparkled in the winter darkness as they drove towards Jukkasjärvi.