I'm begging you to

Chapter 8 - The box

Agnetha was sitting on her bed and had not noticed how her eyes had slowly filled with tears. She had been sitting on her bed for what felt like an eternity now, staring at the box lying on her lap. She shivered slightly but didn’t know if it was the cold room or something else. She didn’t dare touch the photos. She was afraid that once she touched them there would be no turning back. But subconsciously she had known for a long time that there was no going back. In fact, from the day Frida, Benny, Björn and Agnetha had decided to form a band.

And yet something still kept her from touching the inside of the box. She didn’t know what was coming over her, that she was even holding the box in her hands again. After such a long time. Why now? She should have burned it back then. Now the box was on her lap and it was open. Why had she opened it in the first place? Why didn’t she just call Margareta to apologise? It was almost dawn. Why didn’t she lie down in bed and try to sleep? Instead she sat here. How pathetic. It had been years already. She should just move on and get over what was.

Her eyes fell on the first photo in front of her. Two women laughing on a boat. One blonde and one dark-haired. The wind was blowing through their hair. It was summer and they seemed incredibly happy and carefree. She remembered that day as if it were yesterday. On this warm summer night, they had shot scenes for their music video “Summer Night City”. And suddenly Agnetha thought of another summer night. A night that changed her life forever and that she had not thought about or wanted to think about for a long time...

Finally her fingers began to run over the paper before she could stop herself. As if her body was completely separate from her head. Her body acted on instinct. Her head was stubborn and still trying to deny everything. Hoping it would make everything easier. As if it could change anything. Slowly, with trembling hands, she lifted the photo and took it out. The dust that was stirred up made her nose itch and she sneezed violently. The sneeze was so loud shaking her whole body that she suddenly came back to her senses. It was as if she had woken up from a trance and was startled. Nevertheless, she did not stop looking at the photo.

Underneath the first photo, which now lay beside her on the bed, was another from the same day. There was a crooked edge on the side. She remembered. Björn had been in the photo too. She had cut him out. Agnetha no longer knew exactly why. Or rather which of the many reasons had moved her to do so. She didn’t care that he already had someone new a week after their divorce. Yes, even a baby with her. It hadn’t even hurt her as much as she would have expected. What had hurt her much more was the moment she realised that the whole marriage had been a lie. And that Björn had probably known something was wrong with her for a long time and continued anyway. That his career was more important to him than his children.

Her children. Her everything. And the only reason why she could not completely regret the time with Björn and would probably do it again. Just to have the two miracles she had now. But was she happy? She had not known any other way to help herself. Her biggest dream had always been a baby and how else could she have fulfilled it? She had had no choice. But had Björn noticed anything about..? About her tendencies. Or her lack of desire for him. How she had flinched when he touched her. And above all did he know... ...about Frida?

But not even she had known what Frida meant to her that time. But it didn’t really matter what Björn thought now. Or anyone. She turned the photo over. There was a note with numbers stuck on the back. She scanned them and then turned the picture back again. Her eyes fell once more on the photo. At the woman next to her with the auburn curls. Her laugh with the fangy teeth that was still so familiar even though she hadn’t seen or heard it for years. How close Frida sat to her. Their upper bodies touching all the time during the boat trip.

Above their heads Agnetha saw a small crack. After she had cut Björn out of the photo, she was about to tear Frida away too. Not for the same reason. Björn simply did not belong to her. But Frida... Frida... She wanted to tear her away as quickly and painfully as Frida had left her. One evening, completely out of the blue and without reason. Cold and distant. The photo began to blur.

The tears that had been building up in Agnetha’s eyes, burning her vision, were now spilling over. Silently running over her cheeks and this time she didn’t even care to wipe them away. She stuffed the photos back into the box without even looking at the others, hastily and forcibly pushed the lid shut, and threw the box back under the bed.

The sun had already risen and flooded the door and the hallway with orange light. Without looking at the clock, Agnetha decided to call Margareta and apologise for her emotional outburst. Maybe she would then take her back. And if not, she would find someone else. After all, she was Agnetha Fältskog. There were certainly enough people out there. And in the end, she didn’t even care who it was. She knew no one else would even have a meaning. But as long as she had someone who got her distracted, she would not have more time to think and that was more than convenient for her. And before she decided to do something stupid...

She ran over to the living room, almost falling over the carpet where one corner had turned upside down, to her phone and started to dial a number on the rotary dial. Then she paused. She had just dialled a random number. It wasn’t Magareta’s. It wasn’t any of the other women’s numbers either. She didn’t recognise it. Or maybe she did. She had just dialled it without thinking. It was the numbers from the back of the photo. With an English area code. That one evening SHE had put the note on her table before she left. And although Agnetha wanted to throw it away, she had kept it.

It rang several times. Her heart was suddenly beating so loudly that she could hear it in her ears. And her head started to spin again. The surroundings became blurred again. But this time not because of tears.

She was about to hang up, when there came a crunch from the receiver and, after a pause, a voice.

“Lyngstad. Hello?”

Silence.

Then, after a while again.

“Hello? Who is this? It’s early in the morning.”

She spoke English. Her Swedish accent was nevertheless unmistakable. Her voice sounded sleepy and slightly annoyed. Agnetha’s mouth was dry and the feelings threatened to overwhelm her. Frida hadn’t recognised her number. She couldn’t remember. After all, her number had not changed over the years. Agnetha wanted to hang up again. What had she done? She regretted it. The voice of the other woman on the other end of the receiver, on the other end of the continent was too much for her. For years she had tried to avoid her. Everything that reminded her even a little of this woman. She hated herself for not hanging up because she wanted to hear that voice again. And for realising how incredibly much she had missed the sound.

“Hello? I’m hanging up.”

“Wait!” Came from the blonde woman’s mouth.

Silence again. Then she heard a sharp intake of breath at the other end.

“Agnetha?”