But the years passed and she put bitterness aside. Life held too much else for her to keep focusing on bad feelings towards her mother. Nor had she had the time to think about or mourn her father. This was no longer the case. Life had caught up with her, run her down, and left her aching all over by the side of the road. Now she had all the time in the world to think about the man who should have been here right now. Who would have known what to say, who would have stroked her hair and said that everything was going to be all right. Lilian, as usual, was worrying too much about herself to take the time to listen, and Niclas, well, he was just Niclas. Any hope she had harboured that might bring them closer to each other had been extinguished. It was as though he'd sealed himself up inside his own little cocoon. Of course he had never let her get very close, but now he was like a shadow figure slinking in and out of her life. He laid his head on the pillow next to hers every night, but then they lay there side by side, careful not to touch each other. Afraid that a sudden and unexpected contact of skin against skin might open wounds that would be better left alone. They had been through so much together. Against all odds they had maintained an illusion of unity, at least, but now she wondered whether they might have come to the end of the road.

Footsteps on the stairs roused her from these weighty thoughts. She looked up and saw Niclas. A glance at the clock showed that there were still a couple of hours left until he ought to be coming home from work.

'Hi, are you home already?' she said in surprise, starting to get up.

'Don't get up, we need to talk.' Her heart sank. Whatever it was he had to say, it wasn't going to be good.

FJÅLLBACKA 1928

Life in the house wasn't the big improvement she had hoped for. Who she was now still took precedence over the person she had once been. With each passing year her bitterness grew, and the life she had lived before she married seemed more like a distant dream. Had she really worn fine dresses, played the piano at elegant parties, had suitors compete to dance with her? Above all, was there actually a time when she could eat as much food and sweets as she liked?

She had inquired about her father and, to her satisfaction, heard that he was a broken man. He now lived alone in the big house and went out only to go to work. That pleased Agnes; at the same time she harboured a faint hope that he might take her back in his good graces if his life had turned sufficiently miserable. But the years passed and nothing happened, and that hope faded more and more.

The boys were now four years old and completely incorrigible. They ran wild around the neighbourhood, as small as they were, and Agnes had neither the desire nor the energy to discipline them properly. And Anders had even longer workdays now that he had to travel from town out to the quarry. He left before the boys woke up and came home after they had gone to bed. Only on Sundays could he spend a little time with them, and then they were so happy to have him home that they behaved like little angels.

They hadn't had any more children, Agnes made sure of that.

Anders had made some awkward attempts to bring up the subject, and his desire to be allowed into her bed, but she'd had no difficulty in saying no. The desire she once felt for him was utterly gone. Now she was merely disgusted, and she shuddered at the thought of feeling his dirty, lacerated fingers anywhere near her skin. The fact that he didn't protest against the enforced celibacy also increased her contempt for him. What some people would call consideration, she called spinelessness, and the fact that he still did most of the housework only reinforced that image. No real man would wash his children's clothes or make his own packed lunch. Yet she closed her eyes to the fact that the reason he did so was because she refused to do these tasks herself.

'Mamma, Johan hit me!' Karl came running over to where she sat on the front steps smoking a cigarette, a bad habit she had acquired in recent years. She defiantly asked Anders for money to buy cigarettes, always hoping that he would object.

Now she cast a cool glance the crying boy before her and then slowly blew a cloud of smoke in his face. He started to cough and rubbed his eyes. He pressed up against her in an attempt to find some solace, but like so many times before she refused to respond with affection. It was up to Anders to dole out endearments. He spoiled the boys so much that she didn't need to make them mamma's boys too. Brusquely she pushed Karl away and gave him a swat on the bottom.

'Don't blubber – just hit him back,' she said calmly, blowing another puff of smoke up into the clear spring air.

Karl gave her a look that contained all the sorrow he felt at being rejected once again. Then he lowered his head and slunk over towards his brother.

Not long ago the woman next door had actually had the nerve to come over and tell Agnes that she ought to keep a better eye on her kids. She'd seen them playing alone out on the wharf by the freight dock. Agnes had merely given the old crone a dirty look and then calmly told her to mind her own business. Considering that her oldest daughter had gone to the city and, according to rumour, made her living by showing herself off as God made her, she was hardly the one to tell Agnes how to take care of her children. The woman had put on a wounded expression and then walked off muttering something about 'poor boys', but she hadn't dared to come and knock on the door again, which was exactly as Agnes had intended.

She leaned back in the spring sunshine, reminding herself not to enjoy for too long the rays that felt so good on her face. She wanted to retain the white complexion that was the mark of a woman of the upper class. The only thing she had left from her former life was her looks, and that was something she exploited to the utmost, trying to put a little silver lining on her otherwise dreary existence. It was astonishing how much she could glean from the shopkeeper in exchange for acquiescing to an embrace or maybe more, provided there was enough to gain. In that way she'd been able to bring home sweets and extra food, though she shared none of it with her family. She'd even acquired a bit of fabric that she carefully hid from Anders. For the time being she had to be content with touching it occasionally, rubbing it against her cheek to feel its silky smoothness. The butcher had also dropped a few hints, but there were limits to what she would do just to get some extra fine cuts of meat. The shopkeeper was a relatively young man and good-looking, and not half bad when it came to exchanging kisses in the back room, but the butcher was a fat, greasy lout in his sixties. Agnes would need to get considerably more than a piece of rump steak for allowing those sausage fingers with dried blood under the nails to slip underneath her dress.

She knew that people were talking behind her back. But once she realized that she would never regain her former social status, she no longer cared. Let them talk. If she could find ways to indulge in some of the good things in life, she had no intention of letting the views of a bunch of narrow-minded workers prevent her from doing so. And if it also bothered Anders occasionally to hear what people were saying about his wife, then all the better. In Agnes's eyes it was his fault that she had ended up where she was, and it made her happy if she could cause him pain.

But the past few weeks something had been bothering her. She felt as though something was going on, but she wasn't part of it. Several times she had come upon Anders lost in thought, staring into space as if he were contemplating something important. On one occasion she had even asked him if he was thinking about anything in particular, but he had denied it, though not very convincingly. He was involved in something, she was sure of it. Something that would affect her, but for some reason she was not allowed to know what it was. The whole thing was driving her crazy, but in this situation she knew her husband well enough to realize that it would do no good to push him to reveal anything before he was ready. He could be stubborn as a mule if he set his mind to it.