Chapter 4
Filippa tries to swallow the feeling of nausea. The air in the compartment is warm and stuffy, and the corner of the sofa where she is sitting by the window smells quite unpleasant. She has drunk considerably more than she should have done, and feels dizzy.
Amir has barely glanced in her direction since they left Uppsala. All his attention is fixed on William, who, in turn, is mainly focused on Olivia.
They have just passed through G?vle, and there are already two empty vodka bottles in the trash can. They are all clutching plastic glasses, the noise level is high, and Ed Sheeran is belting out his latest hit from a speaker Amir brought with him.
A while ago someone banged on the wall; then the conductor came and asked them to turn it down. However, as soon as he had gone, Amir turned up the volume again.
Filippa looks out through the dirty window.
The winter cold has settled over the whole country. According to the forecast it is supposed to be well below zero all week in ?re. The dark landscape whizzes by, snow-covered fir trees and white fields following on from one another.
Sweden is sleeping.
William leans forward and holds up a little plastic bag of white powder.
“Want some?”
Filippa shakes her head, tries to smile at the same time. She doesn’t like drugs; she’s afraid of losing control. And she’s tired; it’s been a very stressful week, with a complicated assignment on political theory.
She would really like to lie down in the hope that the nausea will pass, but no one else seems particularly keen on breaking things up, and she doesn’t want to come across as a party pooper. She will also need help to unfold the top bunk if she is going to lie down.
Opposite her, Olivia is leaning on William’s shoulder as she gulps her pink concoction, which is made up of equal parts vodka and lingonberry juice. It goes down the wrong way, and she splutters, spraying the drink in all directions.
“For fuck’s sake!” shouts Amir—most of it went in his face.
Olivia simply rolls her eyes and laughs at his pink-spattered cheeks. She is in top form; it doesn’t look as if she turned down William’s offer of coke, and she tosses her black shoulder-length hair before taking another slug.
As usual Olivia has no problem keeping going all night. In that way she and Filippa are very different, even though they have been best friends since high school and went to Uppsala together, where they live in the same student corridor.
Olivia staggers off to the toilet. Filippa would really like to lie down for a while. She yawns, and out of the corner of her eye, she sees Pontus react.
“Are we so fucking boring?” he says loudly. The comment is clearly aimed at Filippa.
He could have kept his tone lighthearted, but the question suggests that he is annoyed. As if he is taking it personally that she isn’t partying as hard as everyone else.
It was Pontus who sorted the booze; he made that very clear as soon as they boarded the train.
By this stage he is pretty drunk, they all are, but Pontus is slurring his words a lot more than anyone else.
Plus his gaze is unfocused, his forehead is beaded with sweat, and there are big damp patches under the arms of his shirt.
He rummages around in his bag and produces a fresh bottle of Explorer, which he holds out to Filippa, almost like a trophy.
She shakes her head; she can’t face one more sip.
“Fussy, aren’t you?” Pontus says, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Not happy with the selection on offer?”
“I just don’t want any.”
She swallows, gives Pontus a hard stare. Surely they don’t need to fall out over this. But Pontus won’t give in. He stands up, still clutching the bottle, and leans over Filippa. He is way too close; she can smell his sweaty armpits.
“Give me your glass, and I’ll fill it up.”
It sounds like an order.
“I don’t want any.”
Suddenly she feels as if everyone is staring at her, which makes her go red. Fucking Pontus. Which part of “I don’t want any” doesn’t he get?
“Of course you do,” he slurs.
He reaches out and tries to take her glass, but she refuses to let go.
“Leave me alone!”
Amir, who has been absorbed in his phone, glances in their direction. Filippa wishes he would put down the phone and tell Pontus to stop.
Why doesn’t he do something?
Pontus keeps tugging at her glass until Emil intervenes.
“Leave her alone. She told you she doesn’t want any.”
Emil tugs at Pontus’s sweater, almost making him overbalance, but at least he sits down again. He mumbles something unintelligible, opens the new bottle, and takes such a huge swig that the clear liquid runs down his cheeks.
Filippa tries to give Emil a grateful smile, but it ends up as more of a grimace. She would like to say something about Pontus’s behavior, point out what an idiot he is, but she is afraid that he will hear and kick off again.
“If you want to go to bed, I can help you with the top bunk,” Emil offers.
Filippa nods, and Emil unfolds the bunk with a few skillful movements. He pulls down the ladder and helps her to climb up so that she can stretch out. When she is settled with a blanket over her, he remains standing on the ladder just by her pillow.
Emil is so nice, Filippa thinks tipsily. It’s only Pontus who is hard work.
Their faces are just inches apart; she can feel Emil’s breath on her cheek.
“Sleep well,” he says, disappearing from view as he jumps down onto the floor.
Amir laughs at a comment from William. Filippa feels a stab of pain; he hasn’t really spoken to her since they left Uppsala. She rolls over onto her other side, facing the wall, and consoles herself with the thought that she has a whole week to capture his interest.
In ?re.