The Drowning (17 page)

Nobody paid the slightest attention to him any more. Father was the same as always. And Mother only had eyes for the wrinkled little bundle. She was always walking about, carrying little sister, who never stopped crying. She was always holding her and feeding her and changing her and cuddling her and cooing to her. He was just in the way. The only time he caught his mother’s attention was when she scolded him. He didn’t like it when she did that, but anything was better than when she looked right through him, as if he were nothing but air.

What angered her the most was when he ate too much. She was very finicky about food. ‘You need to pay attention to your weight,’ she always said when Father asked for another helping of gravy.

Nowadays he always helped himself to more food. Not just once, but two or three times. At first Mother had tried to stop him. But he simply stared at her as he slowly and deliberately poured himself more gravy or shovelled more mashed potatoes on to his plate. Finally she’d given up and merely glared at him angrily. And the servings got bigger and bigger. Part of him enjoyed the disgust he saw in her eyes whenever he opened his mouth wide and stuffed in the food. At least she was looking at him. But nobody called him ‘my handsome little boy’ any more. He was no longer handsome. He was ugly. Both inside and out. But at least she didn’t ignore him.

After putting the baby in her cot, Mother often lay down to take a nap. Then he would go over to look at little sister. Otherwise he wasn’t allowed to touch her, not when Mother was looking. ‘Take your hands away, they might be dirty.’ But when Mother was asleep, he could look at the baby. And touch her.

He tilted his head to one side and studied her. Her face looked like an old woman’s. Slightly chapped and red. As she slept, she clenched her hands into little fists and moved about a bit. She had kicked off the blanket. He didn’t pull it back over her. Why should he do that? She’d taken everything away from him.

Alice. Even her name filled him with disgust. He hated Alice.

‘I want you to give my jewellery to Laila’s girls.’

‘Lisbet, sweetheart, can’t this wait?’ He took her hand, which was lying on top of the covers. He squeezed it gently, feeling how fragile her bones were. Like bird bones.

‘No, Kenneth, it can’t wait. I can’t rest until I know that everything is in order. I’ll never find peace if I know that I’ve left you with a big mess.’ She smiled.

‘But …’ He cleared his throat and tried again. ‘It’s so …’ Again his voice broke, and he could feel tears filling his eyes. He quickly wiped them away. He needed to remain in control, he had to be strong. But the tears fell on to the flowered duvet cover, which they’d had from the very beginning. By now it was faded from being laundered so many times. He always put it on her bed, because he knew how much she loved it.

‘You don’t need to pretend in front of me,’ she said, stroking his head.

‘Are you rubbing my bald spot again?’ he said, attempting to smile. She gave him a wink.

‘I’ve always thought that hair on the head is overrated. You know that. A nice, shiny head is much more attractive.’

He laughed. She’d always been able to make him laugh.
Who was going to do that now? Who would stroke his head and say that it was lucky God had made a landing strip for her caresses in the middle of his head? Kenneth knew that he wasn’t the most attractive man in the world. But in Lisbet’s eyes he was. And he still marvelled at the fact that he had such a beautiful wife. Even now, after the cancer had stripped her of everything it could take, and eaten away at every part of her body. She had been so unhappy to lose her hair, and he’d tried to make the same joke about her. Telling her that God had now made a landing strip for
his
caresses. But her smile had not reached her eyes.

Her hair had always been her pride and joy. Blonde and curly. He saw her eyes fill with tears when she stood in front of the mirror and slowly ran her hand over the sparse wisps that remained after the treatment. He still found her beautiful, but he knew that it made her sad. So the first thing he did when he had occasion to drive to Göteborg was to go into a shop and buy her a Hermès scarf. She had been longing for a scarf like that, but had always objected when he wanted to buy her one. ‘It’s not right to pay so much money for a small piece of fabric,’ she had told him when he tried to insist.

Nonetheless, when he went to Göteborg he bought her a scarf. The most expensive one in the shop. With an effort she had climbed out of bed and opened the package, taking out the scarf and carrying it over to the mirror. With her eyes fixed on her own face she had wrapped the glossy silk square with the yellow and gold pattern around her head. It had hidden the hair loss and dulled the cold. And it had brought back the gleam in her eye, which the harsh treatment had taken away, along with her hair.

She hadn’t said a word, just walked over to him as he sat on her bed, leaned down, and kissed him on the top
of his head. Then she had crawled back into bed. Ever since, she had always worn that scarf wrapped around her head.

‘I want Annette to have that heavy gold necklace, and give Josefine the pearls. They can divide up the rest as they see fit. Let’s just hope that they don’t end up fighting as a result.’ Lisbet laughed, certain that her sister’s daughters would be able to agree on how to share the jewellery she was leaving behind.

Kenneth gave a start. He’d been lost in his own memories, and her words came as a cruel awakening. He understood his wife and her need to make arrangements for everything before she died. At the same time, he couldn’t bear being reminded of the inevitable, which was no longer very far away, according to those who knew about such things. He would have given anything not to be sitting here, holding her frail hand in his own and listening to his beloved wife dividing up her earthly goods.

‘And I don’t want you to live alone for the rest of your life. Get out once in a while so you have a chance to see what’s available. But stay away from those Internet dating services, because I think that –’

‘Okay, that’s enough of that,’ he said, stroking her cheek. ‘Do you really think that any other woman could ever measure up to you? It’s better not even to go looking.’

‘I don’t want you to be alone,’ she said solemnly, gripping his hand as hard as she could. ‘Do you hear me? You have to go on with your life.’ Beads of sweat appeared on her forehead, and he gently wiped them away with the handkerchief lying on the bedside table.

‘You’re here with me right now. And that’s the only thing that matters.’

They sat in silence for a while, gazing into each other’s eyes and seeing their whole life together. The great passion in the beginning, which had never really disappeared, even
though daily life sometimes nibbled away at the edges. All the laughter, all the friendship, all the companionship. All the nights they had lain close, so close to each other as she rested her cheek on his chest. All the years of yearning for children that never came, their hopes flushed away in torrents of red, until finally they had reached a stage of calm acceptance. Their lives filled with friends, shared interests, and love for one another.

His mobile was ringing out in the front hall. He didn’t get up, though he let go of her hand. But the phone kept ringing, and finally she nodded at him.

‘You might as well take the call. It sounds like someone is really trying to get hold of you.’

Kenneth reluctantly stood up, went out to the hall, and picked up his mobile from the bureau. ‘Erik’, it said on the display. Again he felt annoyance wash over him. Even now he insisted on intruding.

‘Yes?’ he said, making no effort to hide his feelings. But his mood changed as he listened to what Erik had to say. He asked a few, brief questions and then ended the conversation before going back into Lisbet’s room. He took a deep breath as he fixed his gaze on her face, so ravaged by illness but in his eyes so beautiful, framed by a halo of yellow and gold.

‘It seems that they’ve found Magnus. And he’s dead.’

Erica had tried to ring Patrik several times, but there was no answer. He must be really busy down at the station.

She was at home, sitting in front of her computer and doing a search on the Internet. Though she stubbornly tried to focus on the task, there was no denying that it was distracting to have two sets of feet kicking inside her stomach. It was hard to keep her thoughts in check. And her worries. She recalled the early days with Maja, which hadn’t been anything like the rosy visions of baby bliss
that she’d imagined. That period was like a black hole, when she thought back on it, and now it was going to be doubled. Two to feed, two babies waking up in the middle of the night, two demanding all her attention, all her time. Maybe she was selfish, maybe that was why she had such a hard time placing her very existence, her whole life in someone else’s hands. The hands of her children. She cringed at the idea, and then instantly felt guilty. Why on earth did she feel so anxious about something as incredible as having two more children, two gifts at one time? But she did. She was so worried that it was practically tearing her apart. Yet this time she knew the result. Maja was such a joy that Erica didn’t regret for one second the difficult period she’d been through. But she still had the memories of what it had been like, and they continued to bother her.

Suddenly she felt a kick that was so hard she had to gasp for breath. One of the babies, or maybe both of them, seemed to have a talent for football. The pain brought her back to the present. She was well aware that she was preoccupied with her speculations about Christian and the letters because it kept other thoughts and worries away. But she didn’t see anything wrong with that.

She opened Google and typed in his name: Christian Thydell. She got several pages of hits. All of them had to do with his book; none of them mentioned anything about his past. She tried adding ‘Trollhättan’. No hits. But if he had lived there, he must have left some traces behind. And she should be able to find out more about him. She chewed on her thumbnail as she thought. Could it be that she was off on the wrong track? There was really nothing in the letters to indicate that they’d come from someone Christian had known before he moved to Fjällbacka.

She kept coming back to the question: why was he so
secretive about his past? It felt as though Christian had erased the life he’d lived before he arrived in Fjällbacka. Or was she the only one he refused to talk to? The thought stung, but she couldn’t get it out of her mind. Of course he hadn’t been particularly open with his colleague at work either, but that was a whole different matter. Erica felt that she and Christian had become friends when they worked on his manuscript, tossing around thoughts and ideas, discussing tone and nuances in his writing. But maybe that wasn’t the case after all.

Erica realized that she ought to talk to more of Christian’s friends before she let her imagination run wild. But who? She had only a vague notion of who belonged to Christian’s circle of friends. Magnus Kjellner was the first person who came to mind, but unless some sort of miracle occurred, that wasn’t an option. Christian and Sanna also seemed to socialize with Erik Lind, the man who owned that construction company, and his partner, Kenneth Bengtsson. Erica had no idea how close they were to Christian, or which of them she should talk to in order to obtain the most information. And besides, how would Christian react if he found out that she was going around questioning everyone he knew?

She decided to ignore any such scruples, which were far outweighed by her curiosity. And it was in Christian’s own best interest, after all. If he refused to get to the bottom of who was sending those threatening letters, then she would just have to do it for him.

Suddenly she knew who she would talk to first.

Ludvig glanced at the clock again. It would soon be time for break. Maths was his absolute worst subject, and the hour was dragging along, as usual. Five more minutes. Today his class had break-time together with 7A, which meant the same time as Sussie. Her locker was in the
next row over, and if he was lucky, they’d arrive there at the same time to put their books away after class. He’d had a crush on her for more than six months now. Nobody knew about it, except for his best friend Tom. And Tom knew that he would die a slow and painful death if he ever told anyone.

The bell rang, and Ludvig gratefully picked up his maths book and dashed out of the classroom. He kept looking around as he walked towards his locker, but Sussie was nowhere in sight. Maybe her class wasn’t over yet.

Soon he was going to get up the courage to talk to her. That’s what he’d decided. He just wasn’t sure how to begin or what he would say. He’d tried to get Tom to run into one of her friends, so that he could approach her that way. But Tom had refused, so Ludvig was forced to come up with some other plan.

The area around his locker was deserted. He opened the padlock, put his books inside, and carefully locked it again. Maybe she wasn’t in school today. He hadn’t seen her earlier either, so maybe she was sick or had the day off. The thought made him feel so depressed that he considered cutting his last class. He jumped when someone tapped him on the shoulder.