I Am Behind You (32 page)

‘Please forgive me,' she says with a little curtsey. ‘Good afternoon. I'm Majvor.'

She holds out her hand and James Stewart takes it. His handshake is firm but not painfully so, his hand warm and dry. It is a hand that makes her want to shrink, to shrink and become tiny so that she can curl up inside it like a baby bird.

‘James,' he says. ‘Call me Jimmy—most people do.'

Majvor swallows and nods. She is
not
going to start babbling about how much she loves his films, how she has dreamt of meeting him all her adult life, because no doubt every woman he comes across says exactly the same thing, so instead she asks: ‘What are you doing here?'

It is a reasonable question, and she hopes he won't think she is being too brusque. Jimmy doesn't seem to be offended; he simply nods as if the question is justified.

‘I'm meeting someone,' he says.

Majvor nods too. This is going well. A reasonable answer to a
reasonable question. Suddenly a jolt of fear shoots through her belly. What on earth is she doing? She's still holding on to his hand, even though he has loosened his grip! What a faux pas!

Majvor quickly lets go of the beloved hand and strokes her stomach. Another source of embarrassment is that she is wearing her scruffy sweatpants, her house clothes. She really would have liked to be a little better dressed on such an occasion, but Jimmy doesn't seem to mind; he smiles at her and asks: ‘So how are you, Majvor?'

There is no denying it any longer. Ever since Jimmy turned up and Majvor realised that it really was him, she also realised something else. That Donald might just be right, and this is all a dream. What other explanation can there be for the fact that Jimmy Stewart appears to be standing here talking to her, saying her name and wondering how she is?

But in that case…in that case it is Donald who is a product of her imagination, not vice versa.
Donald
would never dream up Jimmy Stewart, oh no; he's more likely to come up with Åsa-Nisse, the cunning farmer/inventor loved by Swedish film audiences and hated by the critics in equal measure.

‘What are you smiling at?'

Majvor has been impolite enough to lose herself in her thoughts while Jimmy was standing there waiting for a response.

‘Oh…Nothing. It's just so nice to meet you. At long last. So I'm fine, thanks.'

Jimmy nods thoughtfully, as if she has said something profound. She really would like to come out with something wise or witty, anything to show that she's not just some flibbertigibbet, but the only thing she can think of to ask is how he could possibly have had a romance with Olivia de Havilland. That's not really acceptable, so instead she says: ‘Who are you meeting?'

Jimmy nods towards the field, in the opposite direction. Majvor turns around and wobbles slightly; she would have fallen if Jimmy hadn't taken her arm and helped her to keep her balance. Unfortunately she cannot enjoy his touch, because her mind is fully
occupied with trying to process what she is seeing.

Walking across the field, or rather
strolling
, his face glowing with amiability and the joy of life, is Elwood P. Dowd, Majvor's favourite incarnation of Jimmy. But that's not what made her wobble. Fifty metres behind him is Harvey, a six-foot-tall rabbit, kind of waddling along behind Elwood on his hind legs.

It's Harvey who tips the balance. Majvor has often conjured up Elwood P. Dowd for a chat; she has frequently dreamt of being hugged by Will Lockhart, the Man from Laramie. But Harvey? Harvey doesn't even exist in the film, or rather he does, but Harvey isn't…
real
. There are no six-foot-tall rabbits, and on top of everything else this one is wearing a bow tie, just like…what's his name…Little Hop in the
Bamse
cartoons!

Majvor no longer thinks this is fantastic, or even pleasant. As she watches the oversized rabbit waddling towards the camp, a shiver runs down her spine and she is scared. This is crazy stuff, and crazy stuff is dangerous.

‘Majvor,' Jimmy Stewart says, but Majvor doesn't want to listen to him any longer. She has noticed a detail which only a dedicated Jimmy-fantasist would pick up. The colour of the handkerchief knotted around Will Lockhart's neck is
exactly
the same shade of pink as Harvey's bow tie, and that's not right. Lockhart's neckerchief should be medium-red.

There is something dubious going on here, and even if she can't work out what it is or why, it makes her feel uncomfortable, and in spite of everything she wishes Donald was here. He knew there was something in the air, even though he drew the wrong conclusions.

She ignores the attractions of Jimmy Stewart; she goes over to Stefan's caravan and crouches down. Benny has stopped chewing the hose, and is now staring out at the field, tension in every line of his body. The cat also seems on edge; she has pricked up her ears, and is looking in the same direction as Benny.

‘Benny,' Majvor says, and the dog looks up at her as if he is waiting for instructions, which is exactly what Majvor intends to give him.

‘Benny,' she says again, clapping her hands. ‘Go and find your master, Benny. Find your master.'

*

It's nice to be given an order. Benny has been feeling confused for quite some time; he hasn't known what to do with himself. Nothing is as it should be. The strangest thing of all is this business with Cat. They are getting on really well. Benny no longer has the slightest desire to chase or bite Cat. Cat makes sense, unlike almost everything else.

The Grandchildren, for example. At a distance the Grandchildren smell was exactly as it should be—brand-new, sweet and gentle. But now they have arrived in the camp, Benny can smell something else, an old smell like stuff that has been lying around in the forest for too long. It's faint, but it's there, and it's not right. No Grandchild smells like that.

Besides which, it's almost impossible to look at them. The Sun has disappeared, but instead it is the Grandchildren that are hurting his eyes, so Benny doesn't look at them, he just sniffs, and he can't make any sense of the way they smell.

‘Find your master,' the Mistress says, and Benny is only too happy to oblige. He wants to get away from here, away from the old Grandchildren. He crawls out from under the caravan and runs over to his basket, which is lying upside down on the grass, and sniffs all around it. He sneezes and looks out across the field. The sniffing isn't really necessary; he knows what his caravan smells like, and there is a clear scent trail to follow.

He gives himself a shake, then sets off at a reasonable speed. Since Benny finds it difficult to keep several things in his head at once, he hasn't given Cat a thought since he was told to find his Master, but as he runs he becomes aware of a soft, rhythmic sound beside him.

He turns his head and sees that Cat has come with him, taking long leaps as she runs in that peculiar way of hers. Benny doesn't
know whether Cat understands what they are supposed to be doing, but it feels good to have her there. He gives a little bark, and Cat makes a humming sound.

Benny has no idea what that means, but he thinks it means that Cat is happy, that Cat thinks this is good too.

They run.

*

Isabelle's hands begin to shake as the voracious hole in her body opens up and grows bigger and bigger. The hunger tears at her like a physical sensation, and her skin crawls as sweat drips from her armpits. Her tongue is numb; she might not even be capable of eating anything anyway. Torment has taken over her body, and disappointment is clouding her judgement.

Everything is ruined.

The white figure is not interested in her, and her yearning was misdirected. There is no other life, no other existence; she is trapped inside her screaming body. Nobody wants her, nobody is going to come and save her. Isabelle smacks herself in the face as she walks towards her caravan, welcoming the pain that floods her body as something bursts in her mouth.

Falling apart. I am falling apart.

She goes inside, and her hands are so sweaty and shaky that she has difficulty opening the drawer under the bed. There are only three Xanor tablets left, and it takes her a minute to push them out of the blister pack and cram them into her mouth, where they are pushed to one side by her tongue and end up tucked in her cheek. She staggers over to the sink and turns the tap, but the tap is already fully open, and no water comes out. The taste of blood mingles with the bitter taste of poison as the binding agent within the anti-anxiety medication dissolves. She bangs the taps, she bangs the draining board as tears of rage fill her eyes.

Molly. Molly. Molly.

When she turns around she sees that her laptop is open and the screen is black. She presses the Start button, and nothing happens. A low growl comes from deep in her throat as she grabs the whisky bottle and swills down the tablets, making her mouth explode with pain as if she had sucked on the flame from a welding torch. She screams, and beyond the scream she hears: ‘What are you doing, Mummy?'

Molly's tone is the same as if she was asking Isabelle to show her how to paint her toenails, and a blue flame flickers before Isabelle's eyes as she looks up and sees her daughter standing in the doorway, smiling at her with her head tilted on one side.

It just happens. Before Isabelle has time to think she flies across the room and slaps her daughter so hard that the child goes flying, crashing headfirst into the kitchen cupboard. And yet Isabelle does not come to her senses; the rage is too black and all-encompassing. As Molly slides to the floor clutching her head in her hands, Isabelle kicks her in the stomach. Molly doubles over and collapses on the carpet, whimpering faintly.

Isabelle is about to stamp on her head when a door opens in her mind and a glimmer of light pushes its way in; instead she brings down her foot on Molly's hair, spread around her skull like a blond puddle.

Skull. Her little. Skull.

The door is flung wide, and Isabelle shakes her head in disbelief. Molly is lying at her feet, coughing as she curls into a ball and clutches her stomach.

I hit her. I kicked her. I was going to…kill her.

Every scrap of strength leaves Isabelle's body and she falls to the floor next to Molly. She tries to say something, but all that emerges is a soggy gurgle. She closes her eyes, she flies away, she isn't here. This is not happening. A space opens up beneath her eyelids, stars in lots of different colours. She steps out into that space, and time disappears.

Somewhere far away, in another part of the universe, she hears a drawer opening, the clink of metal. She doesn't know how much time
has passed when Molly's voice reaches her.

‘Mummy.'

She opens her eyes and sees Molly kneeling beside her. The child's right cheek is bright red, and she is offering something to Isabelle. A knife. The small fruit knife, the sharpest knife they have.

‘There you go, Mummy.'

*

Carina dare not enter the camp. She has walked around the perimeter for twenty minutes, noticing that their car has gone and that the black tiger has been joined by two identical beasts. Lennart and Olof have told her that
they
see only a harmless travelling salesman with two colleagues, but that doesn't help Carina at all. She already knew that the tiger isn't the kind you see in a zoo. This tiger belongs only to her.

Delete. Delete.

That word is circling inside her mind like a vulture above a cadaver.

Delete.

The situation in which they find themselves defies all reason, but they have been given
one
concrete detail. The crosses on the caravans, the crosses drawn in blood, the crosses that mean
delete
. But who put them there? And why? If she could only solve the puzzle, then perhaps it would be possible to find a way out of here, to escape from the tiger.

On top of everything else, she has an urgent practical problem. The sheer terror has loosened her bowels, and she needs to go to the toilet. She daren't go into the camp, and even if she did pluck up the courage, they can't afford to waste valuable water flushing the toilet.

She can't hold out much longer. If she can't find somewhere to go, it's going to come spurting out into her pants. Why haven't they discussed what to do with human waste?

She knows the answer, of course: because no one wants to talk about the situation as if it is a long-term problem. A wave of pain rolls through Carina's belly, strongest towards the rectum, and she
clamps her buttocks together, forcing herself to stand upright and push back. When the pain recedes her teeth start to chatter and she lets out something between a laugh and a snort.

The fear is here, the creature from her darkest nightmares is waiting for her, but what does any of that matter when you really need a shit?

On stiff legs and with her arms wrapped around her belly, Carina moves towards the camp. She has been so preoccupied with her internal affairs that she hasn't taken in her surroundings for a couple of minutes. When she looks up she sees

thank God

that their car is approaching from the field. She could hardly bring herself to think about what the fact that it was gone might have meant, but now it's on its way back. They will be together again, talk their way out of this madness, they will…

But first she has to go. Has to.

A new wave is building in her belly, and Carina uses her hands to press her buttocks together so that she can keep moving. As she approaches Isabelle's caravan she hears noises that sound like a fight, but by the time she gets there it has gone quiet.

With her back against the wall, Carina slides down into a squatting position, pulling down her shorts and pants at the same time. The diarrhoea explodes out of her, splashing onto the grass, and the stench sears her nostrils. She lets out a long breath and thinks:
From me to you, Isabelle.

As she pulls off her socks to wipe her bottom, she hears movement inside the caravan, then Molly's voice saying something. As she cleans herself up she also hears their car drive into the camp. Then she hears Stefan screaming.