I WONDERED IF MY MUM had used that word—cunt—in order that I might feel some of the shock she’d felt, simulating the lasting impression his knuckles had made on her. If so, she’d succeeded, since I’d never heard her say it before. Was there a secondary calculation? Perhaps she’d thought I’d become too comfortable. After the kindness and intimacy we’d just shared, she was warning me not to expect any protection from the truth, reminding me that, according to her, we were dealing with violence and darkness that she’d expose without censoring.
From her journal she pulled out a second invitation, expensively produced, placing the two contrasting invitations side by side on the table so that I might examine them.
This is the invitation to the exclusive second midsommar party. I don’t need to point out the difference in quality. Notice my handwritten name in elegant black calligraphy. They’ve included my middle name—Elin—but not Chris’s middle name, strange because how did they obtain that information and why the inconsistency? I’d never shared it with anyone. It’s not a secret, but it can’t have been a thoughtless slip. It can only be interpreted as an implicit threat. They can unearth private information about me. This was Håkan’s way of telling me that the investigative process cut both ways and if I was coming up against him I’d better be ready for the fight of my life.