Voyage 2002

"No, no one is in the mood for that, Fridan." November 2001 / Benny

After he had been talking for forty five minutes, he put the phone down. He got out of bed, stretched and walked to the ensuite bathroom. Ten minutes later he came out showered and dressed. He grabbed his phone and walked out of the bedroom. Once in the living room, he looked around. In the kitchen he heard rumbling. At his leisure, he walked over to where the sound came from.

"Hey, good morning," he said, looking at her.

Frida turned around and took a step in his direction. Briefly she stroked along his beard.

"Hi Benny, did you sleep well?"

"Yeah, okay," he replied truthfully. "And this morning I had both my youngest and my oldest child on the phone."

She looked up. "Peter? Ah, I would have liked to talk to him too! How is he?"

He chuckled. "Sorry, not Peter. Björn is my oldest attention seeker."

Frida burst into laughter and proceeded to prepare her breakfast. She had a bowl of fresh fruit, a bowl of cereal and now she was grabbing yogurt from the fridge.

"I knew you were very young, but the fact that you even conceived a child before you were born is quite an accomplishment, in my opinion!"

"Yes, I have some hidden talents here and there," he said, walking around her to make coffee.

"And what did Björn say?"

He hesitated. Was he going to get this whole story out? Wasn't that too early? If Frida knew, the story would reach Agnetha within twenty-four hours and he thought Björn wanted to take care of that himself. So he had to give clear instructions. But actually he didn't want to withhold it either.

"Eh, Björn had all kinds of things," he said, "but also something about ABBA. I'd like to tell you about it, but he wants to discuss it with Agge himself. So can you keep your mouth shut to her for that long?"

With high raised eyebrows she looked at him. She opened her mouth to say something, but at that moment the phone rang. Still looking puzzled at him, she walked over to her phone and it turned out to be Hans. Apparently everyone that morning had the uncontrollable urge to call them.

He decided to make a sandwich and took his plate and mug to the dining room, where they almost never sat, but he wanted to give her some privacy while she talked to Hans.

From the dining room he looked out on the valley in which Frida's house lay. She had only lived there for a short time, about a year and a half. Soon after Ruzzo died, she had taken the things she needed from their old house and left the rest. Things had been thrown away and auctioned off - probably to the delight of her fans - but she hadn't looked back. She had run away.

He thought back to that particular day. October 29, 1999...

She called him herself. In the morning he had died, that evening she called him. She didn't cry, she made an announcement and she went on with all the things that needed to be taken care of.

A year and a half earlier, Ruzzo had called him with an announcement that was, if possible, even worse.

January 13, 1998.

The blackest page of his life so far. Sure, they had less contact in recent years, but it had never been cut off. He'd known her from toddlerhood. His bonus daughter. Lotta, the girl with the most beautiful dark eyes he had ever seen. Their click was instant and when he heard what had happened to her, his life broke into a thousand pieces. In shock, he had stood hyperventilating after Ruzzo had hung up. Unable to do anything else, he had grabbed onto the dining room table and the tears had fought their way out violently. While thinking of Lotta, he had called out Frida's name. Again and again and again. Oh, how could she overcome this grief?