I Am Behind You (23 page)

‘Take it up, that's right,' Stefan says.

Peter places a hand on Majvor's shoulder, and in a tone that implies he is revealing a great secret, he says: ‘But we can put it back together. Afterwards.'

Majvor glances towards the caravan. When no guidance is forthcoming from that direction, she looks at the dog, who tilts his head on one side and pricks up one ear, as if he too is waiting for her decision.

‘Well,' she says. ‘That…that's fine.'

‘Excellent,' Peter says, whipping out his pocketknife. He finds the Phillips screwdriver and hunkers down. The screws securing the boards are short, and he needs only a few turns to remove the first one. He passes it to Stefan, who puts it in his breast pocket before changing his mind and slipping it into his trouser pocket instead. There will be a lot of screws.

Or not. As Peter begins to undo the second screw, the caravan door flies open with a crash that makes the dog leap out of his basket
in terror. Donald is standing there holding a shotgun, which is pointing at them.

‘Leave my fucking floor alone!' he yells, waving the barrel of the gun. ‘Fuck off!'

Peter slowly gets to his feet, hands in the air. He clasps the knife between his thumb and forefinger so that he can show Donald an empty palm. ‘Donald,' he says with exaggerated calm, ‘we need the planks to build a…'

‘I heard what you said.' Donald raises the gun to his shoulder so that he can take aim properly. ‘It's not happening. Now fuck off!'

The dog is the first to obey Donald's order. With his tail between his legs he slinks out of the awning as Peter and Stefan back away. Only Majvor remains where she is; in fact she takes a step towards her husband. ‘Donald. Pull yourself together. Put down the gun.'

This is the first time Stefan has been threatened with a firearm, and he doesn't take his eyes off the barrel of the gun. There is something hypnotic about that dark hole, the black eye of the snake determined to paralyse him before the fatal strike. The cramp in his legs eases slightly as the barrel shifts towards Majvor, and Stefan turns his head a fraction just to check that he really is on his way to the exit.

He is. The dog is standing a couple of metres outside, gazing up at him. Their eyes meet. Then a shot rings out.

*

Molly's fifteen minutes on the computer are almost up when she hears the bang. The only reaction this provokes is a raised eyebrow before she places the final flower and brings down the last of the zombies on that level.

She wrinkles her nose and looks bored as the next level begins. She exits the game and clicks on the computer's battery saver. It is set so that the laptop goes into sleep mode when it hasn't been used for ten minutes. Molly alters the setting so that it never goes into sleep mode, then leaves the laptop open on the table.

She wanders over to the sink, turns on the tap and spends a little while staring at the running water. Then she goes to the bathroom and turns on the shower, flushes the toilet a couple of times.

The flow of water has already begun to slow down by the time she clambers up onto the kitchen worktop and rests her hands and forehead against the plexiglas, staring out across the field in the direction Carina and Isabelle took.

‘Come on then,' she whispers. ‘Come now.'

*

Emil hears the bang and assumes that someone has a puncture. He had one once, and it sounded very similar. He doesn't bother to investigate; he is far too busy with the story in front of him, the tale of the Lego fortress.

Molly has a way of saying stuff so that it sounds real, and Emil has to make up his own narrative to counter hers. For example, she said that creatures wanting blood would soon come, and that Emil would bleed and bleed.

Emil knows that this isn't really true, but it
feels
true, and therefore he has put himself inside a story where there are high, strong walls and a good defence. There are three people inside the fortress: Emil and Mummy and Daddy.

Outside there is a skeleton Lego man, and Emil makes him bang his head against the wall as he says: ‘Let me in. Give me blood.'

‘Ha ha,' say the occupants of the fortress. ‘You will never get in here, you stupid bloodsucker, you stupid…' Emil searches for the right phrase: ‘…bag of bones!'

The skeleton gets angry and starts picking up pieces of Lego, which he hurls at the fortress, growling. But the walls hold. The skeleton jumps up and down, gnashing his teeth.

Emil frowns. This isn't what Molly said was going to happen. He can't quite remember what she said, but he thinks they were going to
give away
their blood to whoever came. Voluntarily.

That doesn't fit in with the game, so instead the skeleton carries on throwing himself at the wall until his head falls off. Emil bursts out laughing. That's what's going to happen. That's the way it will be.

*

Lennart and Olof have dug out their old primus stove and are in the process of filling it up so that they can make a decent cup of coffee when they hear the gunshot. They immediately stop what they are doing, because they know exactly what it is.

Maud slides out through the door ahead of them as though she too wants to see what is going on, but in fact it is something else that has caught her attention. The beagle is on guard just a few metres away from his caravan, and Maud keeps going until she is about ten metres away from the dog. Then she sits down and hisses at him.

Lennart and Olof are hurrying over when Peter, Stefan and Majvor emerge from the awning. Majvor's eyes are wide open, and one hand is resting on her heart.

‘What's happened?' Lennart calls out. ‘Is anyone hurt?'

Majvor moves her hand to cover her mouth. There is no sign of blood on her blouse, so presumably she is simply in shock. When Lennart and Olof reach her, they can see that this is the case. She stares at them, takes her hand away from her mouth and whispers: ‘He…he shot at me.'

Olof can see that the caravan door is closed. Cautiously he edges forward and peers into the awning. Everything looks just as it did the last time he was there. No. There's one difference. The photograph of Elvis Presley is lying on the floor. The glass is broken, and there is a hole in Elvis's cheek. When Olof examines the awning itself, he finds another hole there.

What an idiot. Firing a gun when there are people around.

He goes back to the others; Stefan and Peter have moved Majvor a safe distance away, and sat her down on the ground. In his peripheral vision Olof can see Maud and the dog running around in circles.

‘We wanted to borrow a few planks of wood to build a tower so that we could pick up a mobile phone signal,' Peter explains. ‘And then Donald appeared with a shotgun. He…' Peter checks that Majvor isn't looking at him, then points to his temple, rotating his forefinger.

His discretion is unnecessary, because Majvor says exactly what he is thinking: ‘He's gone mad. Completely mad. He's convinced all this is a dream.'

*

His master is very cross, and when that is the case, Benny never knows quite what to do to make sure he doesn't take it out on him. Cat is better. Cat is weird, but manageable. Cat makes her noise and Benny barks. Cat runs around in circles and Benny runs after her. Or in front of her.

No. Benny is absolutely not being chased by Cat! He puts on a burst of speed to reduce the distance between them and to show who is the hunter. Cat races across the grass and shakes her head, her tail swishing to and fro.

Benny has temporarily forgotten the claws and the swipe across his nose. He is gaining on Cat, and it's a wonderful sensation. He is a good dog, a fast dog, and he feels neither dizzy nor tired as he gradually gets closer and closer to that long, waving tail. This time he's going to catch Cat!

Suddenly something unexpected happens. Cat stumbles and falls, rolling over on the grass. Before she can get to her feet, Benny is standing over her, growling and showing his teeth as a drop of saliva trickles from his jaws.

Cat flattens her body, folds back her ears, curls up. Benny is ready to sink his teeth into the back of her neck, put an end to this. He draws back his lips, showing his teeth even more, still growling. Cat turns her head to one side, exposing her throat.

Benny is confused. This doesn't feel right. He licks his lips and lets out a short bark. Then he lifts one paw and brings it down on Cat's belly. But not hard.

Cat raises her head and hits him across the nose, but without claws. Benny whimpers, but he's kind of joking. It didn't hurt. He doesn't really know what to do next, so he turns around a couple of times then plonks his bottom down. Cat sits up. They look at one another.

Cat starts to wash herself, and Benny sniffs the air. It is very clear now—the Grandchildren are getting closer. Benny wonders whether Cat is aware of this too. He can't tell by looking at her, and he doesn't know how to ask.

*

When Molly told Isabelle about the thin, white figure Emil had seen out on the field, Isabelle understood why she had ended up here. She was twenty-three when she saw the figure for the first and so far only time, and since then she has been waiting to see it again. On that occasion, she wasn't ready.

Is she ready now? Yes, she's ready now.

Isabelle had just met a football player called Peter, and they had spent a few nights together before he had to go back to Italy and Lazio. They had said they would keep in touch, but Isabelle didn't really care. Her main focus was on her career, and at the age of twenty-three she had reached her peak. She didn't know that at the time; she just thought she had taken a huge step up.

H&M's summer collection. First the show itself, to be followed no doubt by the advertising campaign.

Isabelle had served her time on the catwalks of Milan and Paris; she had been on the cover of
Femina
and could be regarded as well-established, but without that final push that made her a
name
. The summer collections could change all that.

The salons at Berns Hotel in Stockholm had been booked for the event, and in the hours leading up to the show Isabelle was in a contradictory state of intoxication and sharp focus. She felt one hundred per
cent present in the moment, while at the same time the edges of her existence were dissolving. As if it were someone
else
who was in the moment.

She was sharing a dressing area with her sidekicks, three younger girls. She gossiped and sparkled while the final adjustments were made to the one-off pieces she would be modelling. When no one was looking at her, she glanced furtively around the room. There was something there, something she couldn't quite catch sight of. Or at least it felt that way. The hum of a machine, a pressure inside her skull. She dismissed it as nerves.

She was ready. The final unnecessary stitch at her waistline, the final unnecessary dab with the powder puff, ritualistic movements. Then she headed for the ramp.

‘Survivor' by Destiny's Child was blasting out of the speakers and the thump of the bass sucked through Isabelle's skull as the stage manager counted down on his fingers. She stood in the darkness, dressed up and ready, tortured by the conviction that she had
missed
something. Something vital. Then came the signal:
Go!

She mounted the few steps to the catwalk. She went out there, took the steps she was supposed to take, adopted the posture she was supposed to adopt, all the way to the end, where she nonchalantly placed her hands on her hips. An explosion of camera flashes. Then she realised.

This is what I've dreamt of.

Her eyes grew accustomed to the light. Right at the back of the room there was a screen with the image of a green meadow projected onto it to help create a summery atmosphere. Next to the screen was a small, silver-coloured, egg-shaped caravan, giving a three-dimensional illusion. The audience was a dark mass of human shapes, crowding around the sushi buffet, the Riesling and the chillers full of Absolut vodka, their faces occasionally looking at her with vague interest.

Is this what I've dreamt of?

The gaps between beats grew longer and longer, as if someone had slowed down the track. The thump of the bass turned into a
long-drawn-out rumble of thunder that grated inside Isabelle's sinuses, and a thought that was both banal and crystal clear in equal measure took over her mind.

I am an object.

A disposable commodity. A commodity whose function was to sell other commodities. A lone commodity that could be used.

A camera flash exploded, and time was now passing so slowly that Isabelle was able to follow as it burst into life then died away. White light filled her field of vision and there was a tickling sensation in her nostrils. She blinked. Her eyelids were also moving in slow motion, and for a long time she hovered in darkness as the taste of blood filled her mouth.

When she opened her eyes again, her gaze fell on the screen. There was a figure standing in the meadow. A thin, white figure. It was coming towards her, even though it didn't appear to be walking. Then it beckoned to her. It was the only thing in the room moving at normal speed; everything else had more or less stopped.

Come. This is where you belong.

The figure wanted
Isabelle
to come. Not her hip or waist measurement, not her sultry eyes or well-shaped lips. Not the object, but Isabelle herself. She hesitated, because this invitation from the depths of existence brought with it the obvious follow-up question:
Who am I?

A blinding flash, right next to her. The music resumed its usual tempo; she could hear the hum of conversation, and the image in front of her was now nothing more than a photoshopped summer meadow with unnaturally bright flowers. She spun around in a half-turn and sashayed back along the catwalk, to the sound of polite applause.

When she stepped out of the light the stage manager pointed to his mouth, then to her. She ran a finger over her lips and it came away covered in blood. She had a nosebleed, and had to do the rest of the show with a couple of hastily trimmed, flesh-coloured earplugs blocking her nostrils.