‘You must realise...’ I began.
‘Realise what?’
‘That I often wonder what you live on. You never ask me for money. I have no idea what you do.’
She smiled at me, then she quickly headed for a clump of alders, bumping into me as she pushed past.
‘I need a pee.’
‘Watch out for the ticks.’
After a moment she came back and sat down.
‘Go home,’ she said. ‘Take the motorboat. I’ll be over in a few hours, but right now I want to be left in peace.’
‘We still have a lot to talk about. Not least what we’re going to do about the house — particularly now there’s a new generation on the way.’
‘I know. We’ve got all the time in the world to talk to one another, haven’t we? About houses and children.’
I pushed the boat out, flipped down the engine and started her up. I decided to take a little trip before returning to the island. Much to my surprise, beyond the outer skerries, the nameless hogsbacks that barely broke the surface, where great shoals of herring used to gather, I spotted a lone sailboat heading into the wind, out towards the open sea. It was strange to see pleasure sailors so late in the year. I followed the boat with my gaze and could see only one person on board, but I couldn’t make out if it was a man or a woman at the helm. Then I turned and went home. I moored the boat and sat down on the bench. I tried to come to terms emotionally with what Louise had said: she was pregnant. I couldn’t feel the unreserved joy I should be experiencing, which worried me. Why did I carry my emotions as if they were a burden?
At least we had started a conversation; I hoped it wasn’t already over.
I went up to the caravan, glancing at my watch on the way.
It wasn’t there. I checked my pockets, then went back to see if it was in the boat. Nothing.
I tried to come up with an explanation; the bracelet was made of steel and was hardly likely to have broken.
My mobile rang, interrupting my thoughts. It was Jansson.
‘Nordin is dead,’ he said.
‘I know.’
‘I’m going to be one of the bearers at his funeral. Are you?’
‘Surely he must have closer relatives than me?’
‘It’s terrible, the number of people dying these days.’
‘That’s what people usually do,’ I replied.
Then I said he was breaking up and I pretended I couldn’t hear what he was saying. I ended the call.
Jansson could wait. I might be in a hurry, but right now everything would have to wait.
I had to think of Louise’s child as the best thing that could happen to me.
Chapter 10
I went up the hill and looked over at the skerry. When I saw Louise climb into the skiff, I went down to the boathouse and waited for her. The boat wobbled as she stepped onto the jetty; I thought she was going to fall, but she managed to grab hold of one of the bollards.
‘That was a close thing,’ I said.
‘No, it wasn’t. There’s nothing wrong with my balance. Besides, you probably don’t know that I used to practise walking on a tightrope when I was a child.’
I wondered if she was making it up; Harriet had never said that our daughter had tried the art of funambulism.
‘Can you tell me what time it is?’ I asked. ‘I’ve lost my watch.’
‘Quarter past twelve.’
‘I don’t know where my watch is.’
‘You just said that.’
‘It’s strange that it’s disappeared; I was wearing it when I rowed across to the skerry.’
‘I haven’t seen it.’
‘I mean, a watch can’t just disappear, can it?’
‘It’s probably still over there.’
I was surprised that she sounded so indifferent, but I didn’t pursue the matter. I would find it if I carried out a proper search. I dismissed the idea that I could have dropped it in the water.
Louise headed for the caravan; my telephone rang as she slammed the door, the whole structure shuddering. I didn’t recognise the number, so I didn’t answer. When it stopped ringing I put it back in my pocket.
It immediately rang again; this time I did answer, but hesitantly, afraid of being surprised by someone delivering bad news.
It was Lisa Modin.
‘Am I disturbing you?’
‘Not at all. Was it you who just rang me?’
‘Yes. Are you on your island?’
‘Where else would I be?’
She laughed.
‘I’m calling as a journalist,’ she said.
I was immediately on my guard. It was as if her voice suddenly changed. She wasn’t ringing to talk to me, but on behalf of the newspaper.
I said nothing.
‘I believe the prosecutor is preparing to charge you because there are reasonable grounds to suspect you of arson.’
From nowhere a knot formed in my stomach. I almost groaned in pain.
‘Are you still there?’ Lisa said.
‘I’m still here.’
‘Is it true, what I just said about the prosecutor?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know?’
‘I haven’t heard anything since I left the police station. No one has called; I haven’t had a letter. Perhaps you could explain how you know something that no one has told me?’
‘It’s my job as a journalist to find out what’s going on.’
‘But nothing’s going on, is it?’
‘So you haven’t been charged?’
‘No.’
The conversation broke up. Her voice came and went, but neither of us could hear what the other was saying. I waited for her to call me back. I tried to call her but without success. The phone masts don’t always cover the archipelago. Nordin once asked me to sign a petition protesting about the poor service; I signed, but of course it led nowhere.
I went over to the caravan. The temperature was dropping; I wouldn’t be able to sleep in the tent for much longer.
I was just about to knock on the door when I changed my mind. I wasn’t ready to talk to my daughter yet. Instead I sat down among the old fishing nets in the boathouse. I tried to gather my thoughts, to go back to the night when that bright light suddenly woke me. I had a great deal to process, otherwise I would end up in the midst of insoluble chaos.
But I couldn’t gather my thoughts. All I could hear was Lisa Modin’s voice in my head, asking if I’d been charged. How could she possibly know? Was it a rumour, or was it true?
As I sat there in the darkness, I began to feel afraid. I began to doubt my recollections of that night. Could I have set fire to the house after all, without realising it? Could I really be charged without any solid evidence?
The fear turned to nausea. I put my head between my knees, as I had been taught when I was studying to be a doctor.
How long I sat like that I don’t know. The nausea had metamorphosed into a headache when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I heard myself cry out as I straightened up with a jolt.
‘What’s the matter with you? Why are you sitting here?’
I hadn’t heard Louise come into the boathouse.
‘I don’t have many other places to sit.’
‘It’s cold here. I thought we were going to talk. I’ve been waiting for you.’
We went up to the caravan. I followed a few steps behind her, feeling like a stray dog that nobody really wants to take care of.
She made some coffee.
‘Do you want something to eat?’
‘No.’
‘You mean, no, thank you.’
‘No, thank you.’
‘You have to eat.’
I didn’t protest when she made me a couple of sandwiches. I really was very hungry. She looked at me searchingly, as if she expected me to start the conversation, but I had nothing to say. The truncated phone call from Lisa Modin had chased away all rational thought.