Anxious People(93)
“Hurry up,” he said.
“I just want to say… I haven’t told anyone you’re doing this for me. I didn’t want anyone to have to lie for me when they were questioned,” she said.
“Good,” he nodded.
She tried in vain to blink away the dampness in her eyes, because of course she knew she was actually asking someone to lie for her, more than he had ever lied for anyone. But Jim wouldn’t let her apologize, just pushed her past the elevator door and whispered: “Good luck!”
She went inside the neighboring apartment and locked the door behind her. Jim was left standing on his own in the stairwell for a minute, which gave him time to think of his wife and hope she was proud of him. Or at least not really angry. With all the hostages safely on their way to the station, Jack came running up the stairs. Then the negotiator made the call. And the pistol hit the floor.
67
Back in the police station, Jim has told Jack the truth, the whole truth. His son wants to be angry, he wishes he had the time, but because he’s a good son he’s busy trying to come up with a plan instead. Once they’ve let the witnesses leave through the back door of the police station, he sets off toward the main entrance at the front.
“You don’t have to do this, son, I can go,” Jim says disconsolately. He stops himself from saying: Sorry I lied to you, but deep down you know I did the right thing.
Jack shakes his head firmly.
“No, Dad. Stay here.”
He stops himself from saying: You’ve caused enough problems. Then he walks out onto the steps at the front of the building and tells the waiting reporters everything they need to know. That Jack himself has been responsible for the whole of the police response, and that they have lost the perpetrator. That no one knows where he is now.
Some of the journalists start shouting accusing questions about “police incompetence,” others merely smirk as they take notes, ready to slaughter Jack in articles and blog posts a few hours from now. The shame and failure are Jack’s alone, he carries them on his own, so that no one else gets blamed. Inside the station, his dad sits with his face in his hands.
* * *
The detectives from Stockholm arrive early the next morning, New Year’s Eve. They read through all the witness statements, talk to Jack and Jim, check all the evidence. And then the Stockholmers snort, in voices more self-important than adverts for dishwashing liquid, that they really don’t have the resources to do more than that. No one was hurt during the hostage drama, nothing was stolen in the robbery, so there aren’t really any victims here. The Stockholmers need to focus their resources where they’re really needed. Besides, it’s New Year’s Eve, and who wants to celebrate in a town as small as this?
* * *
They’re going to be in a hurry to get home, and Jack and Jim will watch them drive off. The journalists will already have disappeared by then, on their way to the next big story. There’s always another celebrity who might be on the point of getting divorced.
“You’re a good police officer, son,” Jim will say, looking down at the ground. He’ll want to add but an even better person, but won’t be able to bring himself to say it.
“You’re not always such a damn good police officer, Dad,” Jack will grin up at the clouds. He’ll want to add but I’ve learned everything else from you, but the words won’t quite come out.
* * *
They’ll go home. Watch television. Have a beer together.
* * *
That’s enough.
68
On the steps at the back of the police station Estelle hugs each of them in turn. (Except Zara, of course, who blocks her with her handbag and jumps out of the way when she tries.)
“I have to say, if you have to be held hostage, then there’s no better company to be in than all of you.” Estelle smiles at them all. Even Zara.
“Would you like to come and have coffee with us?” Julia asks.
“No, no, I need to get home,” Estelle smiles, then she suddenly becomes serious and turns to the real estate agent: “I really am very sorry I changed my mind and didn’t let you sell the apartment after all. But it’s… home.”
The real estate agent shrugs.
“I think that’s rather lovely, actually. People always think real estate agents just want to sell, sell, sell, but there’s something… I don’t quite know how to say it…”
Lennart fills in with the words she can’t find: “There’s something romantic about the thought of all the apartments that aren’t for sale.”
The real estate agent nods. Estelle takes several deep, happy breaths. She’s going to be neighbors with Julia and Ro, in the apartment on the other side of the landing, and she and Julia will be able to swap books in the elevator. The first one Estelle is going to give her is by her favorite poet. She’ll fold down the corner of one page, underline some of the finest words she knows.
Nothing must happen to you
No, what am I saying
Everything must happen to you
And it must be wonderful
Julia will give Estelle a completely different type of literature in exchange. A guidebook about Stockholm.