Both Nanna and Lubbi cast their gazes down, probably because they associated that more with their own dreadful existences than with hers. Neither of them disagreed, so they were backing her up in a way.

“What did I do then?” said Jeanette. “Did I pull myself together and stop using? No, I sank even lower. I’m useless and my life is one huge fiasco.”

The conversation was over. The others came over and the mood was broken, perhaps partly because Jeanette’s final words could be taken to apply to any one of them. Lubbi and Nanna were free to ignore their own failures, so what was it that drove Jeanette to brandish the truth in their faces? Did she feel deep down that she was superior to them?

She decided to express herself differently in future. Not to say disparaging things about herself that essentially encompassed the whole wretched gang on the benches by the East Gate.

11

Sandra

“MUM, WHY DON’T you want me to fight?”

Sandra was sitting in the armchair in her son’s room trying to read while Erik fell asleep. Not because he was afraid of being alone or the dark or needed company, but for her own sake. Sometimes it took a while for him to relax, in which case they would talk. About the book they had just read, or about something that had happened during the day. Sometimes about bigger things like outer space, the sea, and poverty, and often about everyday but equally fascinating things like buses, scarecrows, and electricity. Now it was apparently crime and punishment.

“Because hurting other people isn’t allowed,” Sandra replied. “It’s a crime that you go to prison for.”

“Igor isn’t in prison,” Erik retorted.

“We don’t put children in prison in Sweden.”

There was silence for a while before Erik continued.

“I don’t think it would be that bad to be in prison.”

Sandra had to stifle the laughter about to erupt within her. Goodness—where on earth had he gotten that idea from?

“It’s probably best if you avoid ending up in prison,” she said with a smile, pinching his cheek fondly. “Sleep tight, darling.”

Erik had a lot of thoughts and was good at expressing himself. He was early in many ways: he had already been walking by nine months and started talking at thirteen months. And he liked to talk a lot, bubbling with enthusiasm to say everything he thought and felt.

What a joy to have a son like this, Sandra often thought to herself. Reflective and empathetic, free-spirited and expressive. Rather a long way from her own personality, fortunately. She was uptight and scared. Didn’t look like much to the outside world: fat and clumsy, dull mousy hair and protruding teeth. The boys weren’t exactly queuing up, and it was something her parents refused to see and understand, whilst at the same time it disappointed them.

She didn’t get much reading done. Her thoughts wanted to stay in the real world with its many drawbacks as well as its bright sides. Erik was one of the best of these, and without him life would be barely worth living. She closed the book and studied him by the light of the reading lamp. What had she really given him? Apart from love and care? His colouring wasn’t hers, nor the body shape or the extrovert nature. But he’s good-natured, she thought, taking each day as it comes. And he wants the best for people.