Юхан Теорин - The Asylum

Sooner or later one of the children starts tugging at his arm, and he is back in the moment.

It is afternoon, and the sun disappears behind the bare trees in the west. The autumn sky quickly grows dark. Jan has one last evening shift, then four days off.

He puts the children to bed and is due to be relieved at ten. When he happens to glance outside just before nine thirty, he sees a man and a woman walking along the street, side by side.

The woman is Lilian, but who is the man? They are walking so close together that they look like a married couple, but surely Lilian is divorced? Jan watches the man hug her outside the pre-school, then turn and disappear into the darkness.

In spite of the hug Lilian doesn’t seem particularly happy when she walks in; she is frowning, in fact.

Jan is feeling very calm; he has devoted all his attention to the children this evening. ‘Is it cold outside?’ he asks.

‘What? Yes... yes, it is cold. It’s almost winter, after all.’

‘Typical. I’ve got a few days off and I’m going away.’

‘Great.’

Lilian doesn’t ask where he is going; she seems stressed. She hangs up her coat in the cloakroom, looks wearily at the clock and then at Jan. ‘I’m a bit early,’ she says, ‘but you can go if you want.’

Jan looks back at her. ‘I could stay for a while.’

‘No, you go. I’ll be fine.’ Lilian pushes past him and goes into the kitchen. The furrow in her brow is still there, and she hasn’t asked a single question about the children.

Jan gazes after her for a long time. ‘OK then,’ he says eventually. ‘I’ll go.’

He puts on his jacket and shoes and takes his rucksack out of his locker with exaggerated movements, making sure she can hear him. It’s almost like theatre. ‘I’m going now... Bye then!’

‘Bye.’

He closes the door behind him. It is very cold now the sun has gone, and as he walks away from the outside lights at the Dell, it is like wading into a deep pond; the playground is in total darkness. But his eyes slowly grow accustomed to the gloom, and out in the street he sees a figure dressed in a dark padded jacket and a black hood approaching from the bus stop.

The shadow is heading towards the pre-school. Towards him.

Jan moves instinctively to one side. He hides behind the playhouse, waiting and listening.

He hears the rattle of the gate as it opens and closes. The front door of the pre-school opens and closes.

Jan steps out. The playground is empty. To the left of the playhouse he sees the three swings, swaying gently in the night breeze. He goes over and sits down on the biggest one, which is made from an old tyre.

He pushes his hands deep in his pockets and waits. For what? He isn’t sure, but he is warmly dressed and he can sit here for a while.

He remains motionless on the swing, gazing across at the hospital and the illuminated fence. From time to time he glances over at the windows of the pre-school, and once he sees Lilian dashing past in the dining room. She is alone; there is no sign of a visitor.

Quarter past ten. Nothing is happening. The lights begin to go out in the houses on the far side of the field as weary mums and dads go to bed. Jan shivers and gives himself a shake, but remains where he is.

Ten minutes later he is too cold, and he is starting to get tired of this. He is just about to make a move when the front door of the pre-school opens. Jan freezes. He sees a figure step out on to the porch.

It isn’t Lilian; it’s the visitor in the padded jacket and hood. A lithe figure moving quickly away from the building. The figure does not look over in the direction of the swings, but walks straight down the path and out through the gate. Jan hears the sound of heels clicking on the tarmac.

He gets up slowly and takes a few steps towards the gate.

The figure in the padded jacket has reached the first street lamp. It turns its head and gazes up at the hospital, and at the same moment a cigarette lighter flares into life — and Jan sees that the figure is his colleague, Hanna.

Hanna Aronsson. The youngest member of staff at the Dell, and the quietest. Since the evening when they walked home from Bill’s Bar together, she has hardly spoken to Jan. And he has made a point of avoiding her, after telling her about Lynx and William that night when he’d had too much to drink.

Jan leaves his bike by the gate and silently follows Hanna down the street, staying out of the pools of light cast by the street lamps. She is heading for the bus shelter. She stops there, smoking her cigarette.

Jan stops too, fifty metres away.

What is he going to do? He needs to make his mind up before the bus comes, and eventually he walks up to the shelter, a tense smile on his face. ‘Evening, Hanna!’

Her blue eyes look up and lock on to him. There is no answering smile. ‘Jan.’

He stops a couple of paces away from her and lets out a long breath. ‘That’s it then — no more work for a few days!’

‘Right,’ says Hanna.

‘So what have you been doing this evening?’

She carries on staring at him, but doesn’t answer, so in the end he tries again: ‘Where are you off to?’

Hanna drops the cigarette butt and stamps on it. ‘Home.’

Jan lowers his voice, even though they are alone in the bus shelter. ‘Have you been visiting someone at the hospital?’

She doesn’t answer this time either. Jan hears a rumbling noise behind them; the bus into the town centre is approaching. When they get on, Hanna goes right to the back of the bus, glancing over her shoulder as if she wants to get away from Jan. But he follows and sits down next to her.

The bus is almost empty, but he speaks quietly. ‘Can we have a chat first, Hanna? Before you go home?’

‘What about?’

He jerks his head backwards, in the direction of St Patricia’s. ‘About what you do up there.’

Jan and Hanna end up at the Medina Palace, at her suggestion. The night club is in the cellar of the Tureborg, Valla’s only luxury hotel, a towering structure of steel and glass which seems to aspire to being a real skyscraper. As pre-school teachers coming straight from work they’re not exactly dressed for the occasion, and Jan actually has milk stains on his jumper after Matilda knocked her glass over during break. The suited and booted bouncer opens the door for them, but his expression is slightly dubious.

‘Do you come here often?’ Jan jokes.

‘Sometimes.’

Hanna has already smoked two cigarettes since they got off the bus; she answers him quietly, looking down at the floor as they walk into the club.

Into an enormous playroom.

Jan has never been to a real night club, not even in Gothenburg, and when he sees the high, black ceilings adorned with long, curved pipes, and the cold metal surfaces of the walls, he knows he shouldn’t be here. But there aren’t many people in the club this Thursday evening. The music is just right — quiet enough for them to be able to talk, but loud enough to stop anyone eavesdropping.

Jan chooses a glass table in the corner — a secluded table for sharing secrets. ‘What are you having?’

‘Something with orange juice in it.’

Jan goes over to the bar. The selection is more upmarket than at Bill’s Bar; there is a range of cocktails, champagne, cognac... He goes back with two glasses of orange juice, but when Hanna takes her first sip, she looks disappointed.

She nods in the direction of the bar. ‘I said something with orange juice in it ... Can you go and get me a proper drink?’

‘Like what?’

‘Something to calm me down.’

Jan looks at her. ‘You mean vodka or something?’

‘Good idea.’