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Chapter Thirty-Eight
Bohuslän 1672
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Bohuslän 1672
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Bohusläningen
Acknowledgements
Keep Reading …
More in Camilla Lackberg’s Fjällbacka series
About the Author
Also by Camilla Lackberg
About the Publisher
Chapter One (#u4e4d6917-bc87-5782-8ded-f88f05357b4f)
It was impossible to know what sort of life the girl would have had. Who she would have become. What kind of work she might have done, who she would have loved, mourned, lost and won. Or whether she would have had children and if so who they might have become. It was not even possible to imagine how she might have looked as a grown woman. At the age of four nothing about her was finished. Her eyes had changed from blue to green, her dark hair she’d had at birth was now light, though with a touch of red in the blond, and no doubt the colour would have changed again. That was especially difficult to determine at the moment. She was lying face down at the bottom of the lake. The back of her head was covered with thick, congealed blood. Only the strands floating outward from her skull revealed the subtle hues in her fair hair.
There was nothing particularly gruesome about this scene with the girl. It was no more gruesome than if she had not been lying there in the water. The sounds from the woods were the same as always. The light filtered through the tree branches the same way it always did at this time of day. The water rippled gently around her, the surface disturbed only when a dragonfly occasionally landed, spreading tiny rings in its wake. The transformation had begun, and gradually she would become one with the woods and the water. If no one found her, nature would run its usual course until she became part of it.
So far no one knew she was gone.
Chapter Two (#u4e4d6917-bc87-5782-8ded-f88f05357b4f)
‘Do you think your mother will wear white?’ Erica asked as she turned to look at Patrik lying next to her in bed.
‘Ha, ha. Very funny,’ he said.
Erica laughed and poked him in the side.
‘Why is it so hard for you to accept that your mother’s getting married? Your father remarried a long time ago, and there was nothing strange about that, right?’
‘I know I’m being silly,’ said Patrik, shaking his head as he swung his legs off the bed and started putting on his socks. ‘I like Gunnar, and I think it’s great my mother won’t have to live alone any more, but …’
He stood up and pulled on his jeans.
‘It feels a little odd, to be honest. Mamma has lived alone for as long as I can remember. I suppose you could say there’s some sort of mother-and-son thing going on, for some reason it feels … strange, Mamma getting married again.’
‘You mean it feels strange that she and Gunnar are having sex?’
Patrik raised his hands to cover his ears.
‘Stop!’
Laughing, Erica tossed a pillow at him. He instantly threw it back, and all-out war ensued. Patrik flung himself on top of her, but the wrestling quickly turned to caresses and heavy breathing. She moved her hands to his fly and undid the top button.
‘What are you guys doing?’
Maja’s bright voice made them both stop and turn towards the open doorway. Maja was not the only one standing there. She was flanked by her little twin brothers, who were happily staring at their parents on the bed.
‘We’re just tickling each other,’ said Patrik, out of breath, as he sat up.
‘You need to fix the lock on the door!’ Erica hissed, pulling up the covers to hide her bare breasts.
She sat up and managed to smile at her children.
‘Why don’t you go downstairs and start breakfast. We’ll be there in a minute.’
By now Patrik had put on the rest of his clothes, and he shooed the kids ahead of him.
‘If you can’t fix the lock yourself, you could ask Gunnar. He always seems ready with his tools. Assuming he’s not busy with something else with your mother, that is.’
‘Cut it out,’ laughed Patrik, leaving the room.
With a smile on her face, Erica sank back on the bed. She could allow herself a few more minutes before getting up. Not having a set schedule was one of the benefits of being her own boss, though it might also be regarded as a disadvantage. Making her living as an author required stamina and self-discipline, and sometimes it could be a little lonely. Yet she loved her job. She loved writing and bringing to life the stories and fates she chose to depict. She loved all the poking around and research as she tried to work out what had actually happened and why. She’d been longing to sink her teeth into the case she was working on right now. The case of little Stella, who had been kidnapped and killed by Helen Persson and Marie Wall, had affected her deeply. It was still affecting everybody in Fjällbacka.
And now Marie Wall was back. The celebrated Hollywood actress was in Fjällbacka to star in a film about Ingrid Bergman. The whole town was buzzing with rumours.
Everyone had known at least one of the girls or their families, and everyone had been equally upset on that July afternoon in 1985 when Stella’s body was found in the small lake.
Erica turned on to her side and wondered if the sun had been as hot back then as it was today. She’d have to look that up when it was time for her to walk the few metres across the hall to her home office. But not quite yet. She closed her eyes and dozed off as she listened to Patrik and the kids talking in the kitchen downstairs.
Helen leaned forward as she looked around. She propped her sweaty hands on her knees. A personal record today, even though she had gone out running later than usual.
The sea shimmered clear and blue in front of her, but inside her a storm was raging. Helen straightened up and stretched, wrapping her arms around her torso. She couldn’t stop shaking. ‘Someone just walked across my grave.’ That’s what her mother always used to say. And maybe there was something to it. Not that anyone was walking across her grave. But maybe across somebody’s grave.
Time had lowered a veil; the memories were now so hazy. What she did remember were the voices of all those people who wanted to know exactly what had happened. They’d said the same thing over and over until she no longer knew what was their truth and what was hers.
Back then it had seemed impossible to come back and build a life here. But all the whispering and shouts had diminished over the years, transformed into low murmurs until at last they ceased altogether. She’d felt as if she was once again a natural part of life.
And now the gossip was going to start again. Everything was going to be dredged up. As so often happens in life, several events had coincided. She’d been sleeping badly for weeks, ever since receiving the letter from Erica Falck, telling her she was writing a book and would like to meet with Helen. She’d been forced to renew the prescription for the pills she’d managed to do without for so many years. She needed the pills to deal with the next piece of news: Marie was back.
Thirty years had passed. She and James had been living quietly, without drawing attention, and she knew that was what James preferred. Eventually all the talk will stop, he’d said. And he was right. Their dark moments didn’t last long, provided she made sure everything went as smoothly as possible. And she’d been able to ward off the memories. Until now. Images began flashing through her mind. She could see Marie’s face so clearly. And Stella’s happy smile.
Helen turned her eyes towards the sea again, trying to focus on the waves slowly rolling in. But the images refused to loosen their grip. Marie was back, and with her came disaster.
‘Excuse me, where can I find the loo?’
Sture offered a look of encouragement to Karim and the others who had gathered for Swedish lessons in the refugee centre in Tanumshede.
Everyone repeated the phrase, doing the best they could. ‘Excuse me, where can I find the loo?’
‘How much does this cost?’ Sture went on.
Again they repeated in unison. ‘How much does this cost?’
Karim struggled to connect the sounds Sture was uttering as he stood at the blackboard with the text in his book. Everything was so different. The letters they were supposed to read, the sounds they were supposed to make.
He glanced around the room at the valiant group of six students. Everyone else was either outside in the sun playing ball or inside lying in bed. Some people tried to sleep away the days and the memories, while others sent emails to friends and relatives who were still alive and possible to reach, or they surfed the Internet for news reports. Not that there was much information to be gleaned. The government broadcast nothing but propaganda, and the news organizations around the world had a hard time getting their correspondents into the country. Karim had been a journalist in his former life, and he understood the difficulties of reporting accurate and updated news from a country at war like Syria, which had been ravaged both from within and without.
‘Thank you for inviting us over.’
Karim snorted. Now there was a phrase he’d never use. If there was one thing he’d quickly learned, it was that Swedes were a reserved people. They’d had no contact whatsoever with any Swedes, except for Sture and the others who worked for the refugee centre.
It was as if they’d ended up in a separate little land inside the country, isolated from the rest of the world. Their only companions were each other, along with their memories of Syria. Some of the memories were good, but most of them were bad. Those were the ones many people relived over and over again. For his part, Karim tried to suppress all of it. The war that had become their daily existence. The long journey to the promised land in the north.
He’d made it here, along with his beloved wife Amina and their two precious children Hassan and Samia. That was the only thing that mattered. He’d managed to bring them to safety and give them an opportunity for a future. The bodies floating in the water sometimes forced their way into his dreams, but when he opened his eyes they were gone. He and his family were here in Sweden. Nothing else was important.
‘How do you say when you have sex with someone?’
Adnan laughed at his own words. He and Khalil were the youngest of the men here. They sat next to each other and egged each other on.
‘Show some respect,’ Karim said in Arabic, glaring at them.
He shrugged an apology as he looked at Sture, who gave a slight nod.
Khalil and Adnan had come here on their own, without family, without friends. They’d managed to escape Aleppo before it got too dangerous to flee. They’d had to decide between leaving and staying. Both could be deadly.
Karim couldn’t muster any anger toward them, despite their blatant lack of respect. They were children, frightened and alone in a strange country. Their cockiness was all they had. Everything here was unfamiliar to them. Karim had spent some time talking to them after the lessons. Their families had collected all the money they could find to make it possible for the two young men to leave Syria. A lot was riding on the boys’ shoulders. Not only had they been thrown into a foreign world, they were also obligated to create a life for themselves here so they could rescue their families from the war. Karim understood them, but it still was not acceptable for them to show such lack of respect for their new homeland. No matter how scared the Swedes were of the refugees, they had welcomed them and provided them with shelter and food. Sture came here in his spare time, struggling to teach them how to ask for the price of things and how to find a loo. Karim might not understand the Swedes, but he was eternally grateful for what they’d done for his family. Not everyone shared his attitude, and those who displayed no respect for their new country ruined things for them all, making the Swedes regard them with suspicion.
‘How nice the weather is today,’ said Sture, carefully enunciating the words as he stood at the blackboard.
‘How nice the weather is today,’ Karim repeated, smiling to himself.
After two months in Sweden, he understood why the Swedes were so grateful every time the sun came out. ‘What bloody awful weather,’ was one of the first phrases he’d learned to say in Swedish. Though he still hadn’t fully mastered the pronunciation.
‘How often do you think people have sex at their age?’ Erica asked, taking a sip of her sparkling wine.
Anna’s laugh made the other customers in Café Bryggan turn to stare at them.
‘Are you serious, Sis? Is that what you go around thinking about? How many times Patrik’s mother is getting laid?’
‘Yes, but I’m thinking about it in a broader context,’ said Erica, eating another spoonful of her cioppino. ‘How many years are left for a good sex life? Do people lose interest somewhere along the way? Do they replace their sexual desires with an irresistible urge to do crossword puzzles or Sudoku and eat sweets, or does it remain constant?’
‘Hmm … I don’t know.’
Anna shook her head and leaned back in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. Erica felt a lump form in her throat. It wasn’t long ago that they’d both been involved in the horrible car accident that had caused Anna to lose the baby she was expecting. She would always have the scars on her face, but soon she would give birth to the child she and Dan had created from their love. Sometimes life could be truly surprising.
‘For instance, do you think—’
‘If you’re about to say “Mamma and Pappa”, I’m going to get up and leave right now,’ said Anna, holding up her hand. ‘That’s not something I even want to think about.’
Erica grinned.
‘Okay, I won’t use our parents as an example, but how often do you think Kristina and Bob the Builder have sex?’
‘Erica!’ Anna covered her face with her hands and again shook her head. ‘You need to stop calling poor Gunnar “Bob the Builder” just because he happens to be such a nice handy guy.’
‘Okay, let’s talk about the wedding instead. Have you been summoned to give your opinion about the dress? I can’t be the only one who has to pretend to be enthusiastic and approving when she shows me one hideous matronly gown after another.’
‘Yup, she asked me too,’ said Anna, struggling to lean forward to eat her open-face shrimp sandwich.
‘Why don’t you balance the plate on your belly?’ Erica suggested with a smile that was rewarded with a glare from Anna.
No matter how much Dan and Anna had longed for this baby, it wasn’t much fun being pregnant in the intense summer heat, and Anna’s belly was huge.
‘Couldn’t you try steering her in the right direction?’ Erica went on. ‘Kristina has such a great figure. She has a smaller waist and nicer boobs than me, but she doesn’t dare show them off. Think how beautiful she’d look in a lacy, low-cut sheath dress!’
‘Keep me out of it if you’re going to try to give Kristina some sort of makeover,’ said Anna. ‘I’m planning to tell her she looks fantastic no matter what she shows me.’
‘You’re such a chicken!’
‘You can take care of your own mother-in-law, and I’ll take care of mine.’
Anna took a bite of her shrimp sandwich, savouring the taste.
‘Right – like Esther’s difficult to get on with,’ said Erica, picturing Dan’s sweet mother, who would never express the slightest criticism or offer any conflicting opinions.
This was something Erica knew from personal experience, because a long time ago she and Dan had been an item.
‘No, you’re right. I’m lucky to have her,’ said Anna, then swore when she dropped her sandwich on her dress.
‘Hey, don’t worry about it. Nobody’ll even notice – they’ll be too busy looking at your enormous bazookas,’ said Erica, pointing at Anna’s breasts, which currently required a bra with size G cups.
‘Shut up.’
Anna did her best to wipe the mayonnaise off her dress. Erica leaned forward, took her little sister’s face in her hands, and kissed her on the cheek.
‘What’s that for?’ asked Anna in surprise.
‘Love you, that’s all,’ said Erica lightly, raising her glass. ‘To us, Anna. To you and me and our crazy family. To everything we’ve been through, to everything we’ve survived, and to not having any more secrets between us.’
Anna blinked a few times before raising her glass of cola to drink a toast with Erica.
‘To us.’
For a moment Erica thought she glimpsed a dark glint in Anna’s eyes, but the next second it was gone. She must have imagined it.
