It was Louise who first heard the boat approaching. She raised her head and then I heard it too. I opened the door. I had no doubt that it was Jansson’s boat.
‘It’s the postman,’ I said. ‘Go down to the jetty and tell him I’m not here.’
‘But the boats are both there — he’ll be able to see them!’
‘Well, tell him I’ve drowned!’
‘I have no intention of lying. If you don’t want to see him, you can sort it out yourself.’
I realised she wasn’t going to change her mind. Jansson was my problem. I pulled on my jacket and went down to the jetty. When Jansson rounded the headland, I could see that he wasn’t alone. Lisa Modin was sitting in the prow, her face turned to avoid the icy wind.
It made no sense. Only a little while ago she had been on the other end of the phone, and now she was here.
Jansson hove to, and Lisa jumped ashore. Jansson stayed in the boat and gave me a sloppy salute, raising a hand to his black woolly hat.
Lisa was wearing a raincoat and carrying a sou’wester.
‘I expect this is a bit of a surprise,’ she said.
‘Yes.’
‘I was standing on the quayside when I called you.’
‘With Jansson?’
‘That was pure coincidence — he just happened to be there.’
I looked at Jansson; he had heard what Lisa said, and he nodded.
‘I won’t stay long,’ Lisa assured me, ‘but our phone call was cut off.’
Jansson picked up the local paper Lisa Modin wrote for, and began to read. We walked up to the caravan. The door was closed, and I couldn’t see any sign of Louise through the window. I could, however, hear the radio.
‘My daughter is here.’
‘That’s good — it means you don’t have to be alone.’
We went up to the ruins; the smell of the fire still lingered, although it wasn’t quite as strong now.
I felt an overwhelming urge to put my arms around her, to let my frozen hands find their way inside her clothes. But of course I did no such thing.
We stood looking at the ruins.
‘What are you thinking now?’ she asked. ‘Now a little time has passed?’
‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘I still don’t understand what’s happened.’
‘I have to be honest,’ she said. ‘Apparently the prosecutor’s office has decided to embark on a preliminary investigation which will probably lead to charges against you. As the house was fully insured, the assumption is that the motive was insurance fraud. But you still claim you know nothing?’
‘About the fire or the charges?’
‘Both.’
‘Absolutely. If I hadn’t woken up, I would have burned to death. In which case it would have been a successful suicide attempt, not insurance fraud.’
She pushed the sou’wester into her raincoat pocket. I noticed that her hair was even shorter now.
‘I have to write about this,’ she said. ‘But I’m only allowed a short piece, not a more detailed report.’
‘It would be better if you wrote that I didn’t set fire to my house and that all those who are spreading rumours should be chased down into hell.’
‘That’s not where prosecutors and police officers usually end up.’
I went up the hill; Lisa followed at a distance. Why was she here? Did she think I was going to confess to starting the fire?
I sat down on the bench while she stood a little way off, gazing out to sea. Suddenly she pointed.
‘Look!’
I followed her finger but couldn’t see anything. However, when I got to my feet I understood. Beyond the skerry where I had pitched my tent, the wind was stronger; a windsurfer dressed all in black was heading straight out to sea at high speed. They were often around in the summer, but never this late in the autumn. In contrast to normal practice, the little sail and the board were also black. From this distance it looked as if the man or woman was skimming across the surface of the water on bare feet.
‘He must be freezing cold,’ Lisa said. ‘What if he loses his grip?’
We watched the windsurfer until he disappeared behind Låga Höholmen. After a while he popped up on the other side, still heading straight out to sea. Something about the sight of him, the black sail, the speed, made me feel ill at ease. What kind of person does that on a bitter October day?
I seized Lisa’s hand. It was cold. She let me hold it for a little while before she gently withdrew it.
A dry twig snapped behind us. I turned to see Louise on her way up the hill. Lisa saw her at the same time. Louise’s hair was all over the place, and she seemed upset. Her expression was hostile to say the least.
‘This is Lisa Modin,’ I said. ‘She’s a friend.’
Lisa held out her hand, but Louise didn’t take it.
‘Louise is my daughter.’
Lisa had immediately picked up on Louise’s animosity. They stood there staring at one another.
Louise turned to me. ‘Why haven’t you told me about her?’
‘We haven’t known each other very long.’
‘Are you sleeping together?’
Lisa Modin gasped. Then she started to laugh.
‘No,’ I said. ‘No, we’re not.’
Louise was about to speak, but Lisa got there first.
‘I don’t know why you’re being so unpleasant. Just to clarify things: I wanted to ask your father some questions. I’m a journalist. I’ve got my answers, and now I’m going to leave.’
‘What was it you wanted to know?’
Lisa glanced at me, but I had nothing to say. This was about me, but I wasn’t a part of what was going on.
‘The police believe the fire was the result of arson. That means your father is a suspect.’
Both Lisa and I were completely taken aback when Louise stepped forward and yelled, ‘Get the fuck out of here! It’s hard enough without journalists running around all over the place!’
Lisa was dumbstruck. I could see the anger in her eyes, but she walked away, down the hill. She got into Jansson’s waiting boat, and Louise and I stood watching as he started the engine and disappeared around the headland.
The wind was even stronger now. My daughter had robbed me of one of the few hopes I had for the future: that Lisa Modin might become more than a passing acquaintance, more than someone I showed around the archipelago from time to time.
‘I want you to leave,’ I said. ‘If you’re going to chase away the few people I like, I don’t want you here.’
‘Do you really think she’s interested in you? She’s at least thirty years younger than you!’
‘She hasn’t let me down so far. Even if we’re not sleeping together.’
We didn’t say anything else. By the time we got down to the caravan, the wind speed had increased further. I looked at the dark clouds piling up in the west; if it had been a little later in the year, I would have expected snow overnight.
We ate dinner together, then drank a cup of tea. I don’t like the blend Louise favours. It tastes of unidentifiable herbs, which doesn’t appeal to me at all. But of course I didn’t say anything.
We were both tired. We reached a tacit decision that I would sleep in the caravan. We played cards until it was late enough to go to bed. Louise lay awake for a long time, but eventually her breathing became deeper and heavier. Then I fell asleep too.
The following day I rowed across to the skerry to look for my watch. Louise didn’t want to come with me because she wasn’t feeling well.
Perhaps that was when I really grasped the fact that she was pregnant. Now I got it. My daughter was going to have a child, and I hadn’t a clue who the father was.
I rowed slowly, trying to picture this unknown man, but there was only a crowd of men milling around, as if the gates had just opened before a football match.