Liza Marklund - Red Wolf

Ellen’s excited yell penetrated the bedroom door a couple of seconds before the girl herself ran in, Kalle only a metre or so behind, growling in a deep voice and making claws with his fingers.

‘Mummy, help! The tiger’s after me!’

‘No,’ Annika said, and tried to calm them down with her hand, which was pointless, the children tumbled over her on the bed, laughing hysterically. ‘But I don’t get it?’ she said into the phone. ‘How can the government proposal shut down the channel?’

‘Up to now the government has decided who would have access to the state’s television masts, both analogue and digital broadcasting. There are only three analogue channels, of course, and those are clearly the result of a purely political decision: channels one, two and four.’

‘Ellen,’ Annika said, ‘Kalle, go and get dressed. You’re going to go and see Grandma and Grandad.’

‘Digital transmissions take up much less frequency space,’ Anne said, ‘so when the three analogue channels stop broadcasting there’ll be enough space for twenty-five new digital channels. In this proposal the government is finally acknowledging that they shouldn’t be controlling who broadcasts what, so they’re delegating such decisions to the Radio and Television Authority.’

‘Do we have to, that’s no fun,’ Kalle said, acting as spokesman for them both. ‘We aren’t allowed to run indoors there.’

‘Come on,’ Annika said. ‘Brush your teeth and make sure you put on clean underwear.’

‘None of this is really new,’ Anne Snapphane went on. ‘The proposal spent over a year in committee and out for consultation. That’s why the Americans decided to make this investment, but today’s paper says there’s a new clause in the directive to the Radio and Television Authority that wasn’t there before.’

Annika sent the children out, screwed her eyes shut and tried to concentrate. ‘And?’

‘During the consultation there was a framework of ten points that television companies had to meet, according to paragraphs one, two and four of the third chapter of nineteen ninety-six Radio and Television Act. Now there are suddenly eleven points.’

Annika sank back into the pillows.

‘So Karina Björnlund has squeezed in an extra condition at the very last minute.’

‘Exactly, with only days to go. Point number eleven says: “Applicants with primarily foreign ownership broadcasting to more than one country in Scandinavia but not to other EU states do not have the right to broadcast via the terrestrial digital network.”’

‘And that means…?’

She could hear Thomas shouting something to the children out in the kitchen.

‘That everyone who meets those conditions can broadcast, but not us.’

‘A law specifically aimed at TV Scandinavia,’ Annika said. ‘She’ll never get that through parliament.’

‘Yes she will; the Greens are in favour.’

‘Why, for heaven’s sake?’

‘The government’s been retreating on road charging. But from next year there’ll be pollution limits on all the roads around Stockholm, just so that Karina Björnlund can put a stop to TV Scandinavia.’

Annika could hear the scepticism in her own voice as she said, ‘But that’s completely unreasonable. Why the hell would she do that?’

‘That,’ Anne Snapphane said, ‘is a bloody good question.’ Then she quietly started to cry.

Thomas yelled something out in the hall and Ellen started to howl. And as the children screamed and the echo of despair came down the line from Lidingö, the angels suddenly started up again, the words tumbling into each other, and she saw the entry in the minister’s correspondence register in front of her like a mirage.

Request for meeting to discuss a matter of urgency .

‘Have you drunk anything today?’ Annika asked, loudly enough to drown out her internal voices.

Anne collected herself for a moment before answering. ‘No,’ she sniffed. ‘But I’ve thought about it. I poured some gin, but flushed it down the toilet. Enough now, you know?’

Her despair seemed to have run its course, ebbing out into single sniffs, and the children stopped screaming out in the kitchen.

‘First Mehmet and then this. I can’t go on.’

‘Yes you can,’ Annika said. ‘Get some clothes on and come over here, leave the car.’

‘I don’t know if I can.’

‘Yes, you can. Thomas and the kids are going to Vaxholm, and I’ve got nothing to do all day. Promise you’ll come.’

‘I can’t stay out here, I can’t bear it-’ A new attack of sobbing bubbled up. ‘That miserable old bastard downstairs always snooping, and Miranda going to and fro between us, and all the snow to clear every winter…’

‘Come here and we’ll look for a new house online. It’s about time you moved into town like everyone with any sense.’

Anne fell silent, breathing down the line, first quickly, then slower. ‘I need to think things over first.’

‘You know where I am.’

Kalle came up to Annika at the front door, wearing his new green boots with the reflective patches. His cheeks were glowing from the heat inside his overalls, his eyes large and shiny.

‘Why is Daddy cross with us?’

Annika kneeled down next to him and stroked him on the cheek. ‘Daddy’s tired,’ she said. ‘He’s been working hard. It’ll be better soon.’ She smiled into his eyes, conveying calm and security that she didn’t feel.

‘I want to stay at home with you,’ Ellen said.

Annika turned to her daughter, who was sweating from having to wait.

‘Anne’s coming to see me, she’s a bit sad and I’m going to help her with something.’

‘Grown-ups can be sad too,’ Kalle said.

Annika had to look away to hold herself together, the sadness in her chest so painful she thought she might burst. My gorgeous children, my darlings .

‘See you soon,’ she said, getting up and adjusting the belt of her dressing gown.

Thomas came flying out into the hall with his hair in a mess and a little black cloud hanging over his head.

‘What are you looking for?’ Annika said, keeping her voice steady.

‘My mobile. Have you seen it?’

‘Do you have to take it with you?’

He looked at her as if she was an idiot.

‘Have you tried calling it?’ Annika said.

His expression changed from derision to surprise. She swallowed and floated over to the phone and dialled his mobile number. His coat pocket rang.

‘Drive carefully,’ she said as he nudged the children through the door ahead of him.

A dark, wounded look back over his shoulder.

The door closed and she stood there with ice-cold feet in the draught that crept in from the stairwell. She had no floor below her, she was in free fall, the sky rushed around her, the angelic choir thundering. She knew the seeds she had sown were sprouting and growing in the minds of the Federation’s managers.

Sophia Grenborg , she thought. Sophia Grenborg, you miserable bitch ; and the angels started shrieking, with an intensity she had never suffered before; they screamed their indignation on an entirely indecent scale.

She clapped her hands over her ears, clenched her jaw and fled, away from the door, away from the draught, back into bed. She pulled the covers over her head, took deep breaths and concentrated on not hyperventilating and cramping.

Ragnwald , she thought. The ruler with divine power. The plane at F21. An explosion. A young man burning. Love for a young athlete, active in the working dogs’ club. Theology studies in Uppsala, awakening courtesy of Chairman Mao. Death as a profession. Benny Ekland, questionable star reporter. Linus Gustafsson, watchful boy with hair-gel. Kurt Sandström, farmer politician with a firm grip on life.