Chapter 55
Ambra was mad at Tom. It took her three days, but the anger had finally appeared. It was incredibly refreshing not to feel like a dumped victim anymore but a justifiably angry and proactive woman, she thought as she furiously typed.
Tom had chased her, sent flowers and bought gifts. They’d had an insane amount of sex. In her world, that meant something. And then he went and chose Ellinor over her.
She hammered away at the keys. Tom was an asshole, and she was entitled to her feelings. She had tried to protect him and still got shit from every direction. Idiot. She hit Enter, sent the piece, and immediately began the next one. Her rage tinged her articles, but no one complained, and it felt good to let out a little anger when she wrote about abused women, murdered women, and inadequate rape sentences. She hated all men today, she decided, glancing at the time. Almost lunch, she thought just as she received a message.
From Tom. What did the idiot want now? Her pulse picked up, but it was just anger. Nothing else. That was it.
I’m in reception. Can we talk? Could you come down?
Her jaw dropped. How arrogant could he be? She was at work and didn’t have time for him. He couldn’t just turn up and assume she would drop everything for his sake. Angrily, she wrote: Go to hell.
But then she hesitated, deleted it, and wrote: Coming.
Because, she realized, she needed to talk too. She actually had quite a lot to say.
* * *
Tom was still absorbed by everything he’d done yesterday. He had, face-to-face, drawn a clear line under everything he’d once had with Ellinor. He felt strong, and he wanted Ambra. Was finally ready to stop dithering, to choose her. Imagine that it could be so simple. He was looking forward to seeing her face when he told her. He impatiently waited for her to come down, ignoring the security guards manning reception who kept glancing over to him. Suddenly there she was, bouncing down the stairs, those unruly locks of hers dancing.
She stopped in front of him with her arms crossed. “What do you want?”
“It’s over between Ellinor and me.”
“Aha. And?”
He frowned. “I don’t love her anymore. It’s over,” he explained.
She didn’t say anything. Just stood there with her arms crossed, glaring at him like an angry tiger. Slowly it started to dawn on him that he might have miscalculated. “Are you angry?” he asked, though he knew even before she exploded that it was the wrong thing to say.
“Am I angry? You dumped me, yelled at me, and accused me of taking revenge on you through the paper. And then you turn up wanting to talk? You’ve been flip-flopping between me and Ellinor for weeks now, but it’s too late. You can go to hell.”
“Ambra, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” she said, her voice rising. “You’re so fucking self-righteous. Did you hear that? Self-righteous.” She practically screamed that last part. People were staring at them. He stepped toward her.
“Calm down a little,” he said.
“I don’t want to calm down. I’m leaving.”
“If you can take it easy a moment, I’ll explain,” he said, grabbing her arm.
Smack!
He hadn’t seen it coming at all, but he definitely felt it. Ambra had slapped him, square on the face.
“What the hell . . .” he said in surprise. It was incredible how quick she was. And strong.
“Fuck. Off,” she said coolly, turning on her heel and storming away. He remained where he was.
The guards in reception were now watching him with slack jaws. Phones were ringing, but no one was picking them up. The other people in the lobby were staring too. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that things hadn’t quite gone according to plan. He would go home and regroup. He gave the people staring at him a stern look and managed to avoid rubbing his cheek before he made it out onto the street. Christ, she was strong.
* * *
“So I guess you could say I’ve really blown it now,” Ambra said to Jill. Her hand was still smarting a bit; she had put everything she had into the slap. She gloomily played with a rose petal that had fallen from the enormous bouquet on the table in Jill’s dressing room at Konserthuset, the Stockholm Concert hall. She watched Jill struggle out of the tight dress she wore onstage. Ludvig floated around them like a blond shadow. He took the dress and hung it up.
“Serves him right. People should slap other people more often.” Jill took off her earrings and bracelets. “Did you manage to catch any of the show?”
Ambra shook her head. “Sorry. I was at work. I got here after the break, but they wouldn’t let me in. Though I could hear from the applause that they loved you. Sorry.”
“It’s a long time since you last saw my show. It would be fun if you came sometime,” Jill said stiffly.
“Sorry. It’s all been a bit much. The trip to Kiruna brought back so many tough memories, and I’m worried about those girls with the Sventins. Then this whole thing with Tom . . .”
Jill rolled her eyes in the mirror. “Dwelling on it won’t make it any better. I told you he was no good for you, didn’t I?”
Ambra puffed up her cheeks. Of course, Jill had to remind her of that.
“I’ll go get some vases,” Ludvig said with a quick look at Jill. He gathered the paper and cellophane and left the dressing room.
Jill pulled on a loose sweater and a pair of white velour sweatpants. “They’re from my new collection. They came today.”
Jill had a number of different collections that she swore she helped design, but Ambra knew she just put her name on them and then earned a fortune: perfumes, jewelry, underwear. She glanced at the thin, pale velour.
“Hard to imagine that would suit anyone but you. Bloggers with eating disorders, maybe?”
“What the hell, Ambra, do you have to whine so much? First you get here late, and now you’re just sitting here moaning. Such bad vibes. Stop being so depressing. Pull yourself together.”
“I don’t have the energy for that today. And I hate that expression.”
“You hate all expressions.”
The door opened, and Ludvig came back in. “You got flowers from the prince and his wife,” he said, holding up a vase of luxurious roses. He took a picture and uploaded it to Instagram.
“Should I take one of the two of you?” he asked, holding up the cell phone.
Ambra shook her head. She was completely exhausted. Her shift had finished today, which meant she now had five free, gray, endless days ahead of her.
“My sister doesn’t want to be seen with me,” Jill said. She sat down in front of the mirror and started brushing her hair with quick movements. Irritation hung heavy in the air between them.
“You look more mature with that hairstyle. It suits you,” Ambra said, thinking that would help to smooth things over.
Jill paused and gave Ambra a look she didn’t understand.
“What?” she asked. What had she said now?
“Nothing.” Jill went back to brushing her hair with those same jerky movements.
“How are things with you and Mattias?” Ambra hated that one of the main reasons she wanted to know was because Mattias was a link to Tom. She hated Tom, of course, but still.
Jill shook her head. “There’s nothing between us. It’s over. We weren’t a good match.”
“Are you sad?”
Harder brushing now. “No. No reason to be.”
Ambra studied her back. She was so pretty, her foster sister. “I wish I was more like you, that I could just move on,” she said, more or less honestly.
Jill put down the brush with a thud and turned around. “What’s that supposed to mean? That I’m more superficial? Dumber?”
“Relax,” Ambra said. “That you’re positive, you can handle breakups, move on without dwelling on things, that’s what I meant.”
“For someone who studied so much, you aren’t so smart. Sometimes you don’t get a thing.” Jill started making a noise with the pots and brushes on her dressing table.
“Come on, what’s up with you?” Ambra couldn’t handle Jill’s moodiness today, couldn’t bring herself to smooth things over.
“With me? Nothing. You’re the one who came here and started moaning. You and your own problems, which are so important you can’t come to one single show.”
“I was busy at work,” she snapped. Grace had been hounding her all afternoon. Oliver had been throwing taunts around. Everyone was on her case right now. Jill, too, apparently.
“Men are idiots,” Jill continued, still making a noise. “What did you expect?”
“Nothing. Let’s talk about something other than my problems if it is bothering you so much. You, maybe? Because that’s what you mean, isn’t it? That everything should be about you and your interesting life and your fucking shows. I’ve heard your songs hundreds of times. I don’t have the patience to listen to them again. But you think only of yourself and your problems, even ignore my birthday. It’s all you, you, you.” Ambra hadn’t even realized that she felt like this, that she was still angry, that she was hurt, but the words were out there now and she had no desire to take them back. Jill was selfish.
Jill’s eyes narrowed. “I knew you were still pissed about that. Why can’t you admit it right away rather than being annoyed forever? I apologized. I bought you super-expensive clothes, you might remember. But clearly that’s not enough.”
Ambra jumped up, felt the anger rush through her body. “Yeah, I know they were super-expensive. I knew I would get to hear about that. You bought yourself out of that one. Like always. And then I’m meant to be so fucking grateful and bow down. I hate it. I never asked for that.”
“I’m a generous person. Is that wrong all of a sudden?”
“But it isn’t generosity. Don’t you see? You control people with your money. You give them stuff and then expect gratitude. That’s not being generous.”
Jill’s eyes flashed. “Fine, I promise not to give you another penny. Why do you have to be so fucking difficult? Did I do something to you?”
Ambra held up her hands. “Sorry, sorry. I forgot you only talk about fun, positive things. God forbid we might have a serious conversation.”
“Lay off with the self-important tone. Is it so wrong that I don’t want to dig deep into everything all the time? Are you happy because you get bogged down in all kinds of crap? You’re depressed the whole damn time. What’s the point of always being unhappy? Can you tell me that?”
Ambra ran her hand through her hair in frustration. Why couldn’t Jill understand this? “I didn’t choose to be sad. It’s a normal reaction, Jill. People get sad. Is it so strange that I feel like crap after being dumped by a man I like?”
“Ah. But you have a choice. I don’t believe in all this talking about difficult things all the time, going to psychologists, dwelling. It just makes people feel like crap. Look at you. What good does being sad do? All for this damn Tom’s sake.”
“You don’t get a thing.”
“No, probably because I’m so bloody stupid.”
“Do you want me to say it? Because I will. You’re dumb, Jill. Only ever write about stupid stuff on Instagram, don’t take a position on anything. You’re uneducated, egocentric, and manipulative. Just like you’ve always been.”
Jill pointed to the door. “I don’t need to listen to this shit. Get out. You aren’t my sister, you aren’t my family, my blood, you have no right to talk to me like that. You have no idea what pressure I’m always under to deliver new material, to perform. Get out. And stay out!”
Ambra grabbed her jacket and purse. “I’m leaving. You can go to hell.”
* * *
Ambra walked away from the concert hall as though in a daze. She didn’t even remember how she got home. She was suddenly just on her street, on Västerlånggatan. She blinked away a snowflake, wiped her cheek with her glove, and got cold and wet.
It didn’t feel like they would be able to repair what they’d just broken, she and Jill. This was the first time they had ever fought like that. They’d always swept and swept, brushing everything under the carpet until finally there was no room for anything else. She looked up, was standing outside her door. It was locked, and for a moment she panicked that she couldn’t remember the code. When she finally remembered the numbers, it took an eternity before she managed to type them in. Her hands were shaking so much that she had to start over several times before the locking mechanism clicked open and a green light told her it was unlocked. She dragged herself up the stairs, clinging to the handrail, and searched her purse for her keys.
No mail, she saw when she opened the door, not even any junk. There was nothing waiting for her, and that was the final straw. No one sent her anything. No one called or sent messages. The tears stung behind her eyelids. No one cared. She dropped her coat, gloves, and hat onto the hallway floor; kicked off her shoes; went into the living room; lay facedown on the couch; and gave herself over to loud, ugly sobs. She cried for a while, caught her breath, and then started up again. No one loved her.
Her nose was soon so swollen that she could breathe only through her mouth. When she sat up to gasp for air, she heard a buzzing sound. It was her cell phone. She wiped her nose with her arm, hurried out into the hallway, and fished it from her purse. Hoped it would be Jill after all. She didn’t know how she would cope without her sister. She had to wipe her eyes before she could see who’d sent the message. It was Elsa.
I’m not doing too well. Think it’s my heart.
Oh God, not that too. She replied: What happened?
Her eyes didn’t leave the screen.
I collapsed. I’m in the hospital. But don’t worry.
But it was too late. Ambra pressed her hand to her mouth, but she couldn’t stop the tears. Elsa. She had forgotten Elsa. There was no point crying anymore; she had to come up with a plan. That was always the best way forward. She sniffed, knew what she needed to do. She was going to Elsa’s side. Back to Kiruna. Again.