The Drowning. Camilla Lackberg

nodded and smiled. That was the easiest way to respond, so he wouldn’t have to explain.

      The make-up on his face looked thick and unnatural. Some of the flesh-coloured cream had even been applied to his ears and hands. Apparently the normal skin tone looked pale and slightly greenish on TV without make-up. In some ways he didn’t really mind. It was like putting on a mask that he could hide behind.

      ‘All right. We’re done here. The stage manager will come to get you in a minute.’ The make-up artist inspected her work as Christian stared at himself in the mirror. The mask stared back.

      A few minutes later he was escorted to the green room just outside the door to the TV studio. An impressive breakfast buffet had been set up, but he made do with a small glass of orange juice. Adrenalin was surging through his body, and his hand shook slightly as he raised the glass.

      ‘It’s time,’ said the stage manager. ‘Come with me.’ And she motioned for him to follow. Christian put down his glass, still half-filled with juice. His legs wobbling, he walked behind her to the studio, which was down one flight of stairs.

      ‘You can sit here,’ she whispered, ushering him to his seat. Christian sat down and then gave a start when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

      ‘Sorry. I just need to attach the microphone,’ whispered a man wearing a headset. Christian nodded. His mouth was now even drier, if that was possible, and he drank the whole glass of water that was put in front of him.

      ‘Hi, Christian. Great to see you. I read your book, and I have to tell you that I think it’s amazing.’ Kristin Kaspersen held out her hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, Christian politely responded. Considering how sweaty his palm was, it must have felt like shaking hands with a wet sponge. Then Anders Kraft, the other talk-show host, came over and sat down as well. He said hello to Christian and introduced himself.

      A copy of the book was lying on the table. Behind them the weather forecaster was delivering his report, so they had to carry on their conversation in a whisper.

      ‘You’re not nervous, are you?’ asked Kristin with a smile. ‘You don’t need to be. Just stay focused on us, and everything will be fine.’

      Christian nodded mutely. His water glass had been refilled, and again he drank it down in one gulp.

      ‘We’re on in twenty seconds,’ said Anders Kraft, giving him a wink. Christian felt himself calmed by the confidence exuded by the man and woman seated across from him. He did everything he could not to think about the cameras surrounding them that were about to broadcast the programme live to a large segment of the Swedish population.

      Kristin began talking as she looked at a spot behind him, and he realized that the programme had started. His heart was pounding, there was a rushing in his ears, and he had to force himself to listen to what Kristin was saying. After a brief introduction she asked her first question.

      ‘Christian, the critics are raving about your first novel, The Mermaid. And there has also been an unusual amount of advance interest from readers. How does it feel?’

      His voice quavered a bit as he started talking, but Kristin kept her eyes steadily fixed on his, and he concentrated on looking at her instead of at the camera, which he glimpsed out of the corner of his eye. After stumbling over a few words, he could hear that his voice got stronger.

      ‘It’s been incredible. I’ve always dreamed of being a writer, and to see that dream realized and to get this kind of reception is way beyond my wildest imagination.’

      ‘The publisher is putting a lot of PR behind your book. We’ve been seeing signs in all the bookshop windows, and it’s rumoured that the first printing was much bigger than usual. The book pages of all the newspapers seem to be competing with each other to compare you with some of the literary greats. Has it been a little overwhelming for you?’ Anders Kraft gave him a friendly look.

      Christian was feeling more confident, and his heart had returned to its normal rhythm.

      ‘It means a lot that my publisher believes in me and is doing so much promotion for the book. But it does feel a little strange to be compared to other authors. We all have our own unique style of writing.’ Now he was on solid ground. He began to relax, and after a couple more questions, he felt as if he could have sat there and talked all day.