We didn’t speak during the night. In spite of her wildness she didn’t utter a single word. When I woke up in the morning, she was gone. She had left a brief note on the table.
Thanks. Close the door when you leave.
Later that day we met in a lecture on ethics. She nodded at me as if absolutely nothing had happened. I tried to speak to her during the break, but she simply shook her head. She didn’t want to talk. I’m not even sure she wanted to remember.
I never went to her apartment again after that night. When we qualified, we went our separate ways; many years later I saw her name in a death notice. She had died suddenly, and was mourned by her parents, brother and sister. She was forty-two years old and working as a GP in the northern province of Västerbotten at the time.
When I saw the notice I felt a deep and unexpected wave of grief. I missed her, although I didn’t understand why.
‘I can tell you’re not asleep,’ Lisa said.
She didn’t turn over. Her words bounced off the wall.
‘I never sleep particularly well,’ I replied.
She rolled over. I could just make out her face in the light shining faintly through the curtain.
‘I was asleep,’ she said. ‘Then all at once I woke up and didn’t know where I was. It’s worse than the worst nightmare, that split second when you don’t know where you are. It’s as if you don’t know who you are either. While I was dreaming someone has taken my face and my body and replaced them with something I don’t recognise; I don’t know who they belong to.’
‘I never have nightmares in the caravan. It’s as if there isn’t room in here. Nightmares need space, or a proper bedroom at least.’
‘It’s the opposite way round for me.’
The conversation stopped as abruptly as it had begun.
‘I have to repeat what I said when you slept on my sofa,’ she said after a while. ‘I hope you’re not expecting anything just because I’ve stayed over. But perhaps you’ve already got the message?’
‘One always expects something,’ I replied. ‘But that doesn’t mean you have anything to worry about.’
‘What is it you expect?’
‘Do I have to answer that?’
‘I can’t force you.’
‘Well, of course I’m expecting you to ask me to join you in bed, and then we’ll make love.’
Lisa laughed. She didn’t sound annoyed or surprised.
‘That’s not going to happen.’
‘I’m too old for you anyway.’
‘I’ve never slept with a man I wasn’t deeply in love with.’ She turned to face the wall once more. ‘Let’s go to sleep. If we carry on talking I’ll be wide awake.’
‘You started it,’ I pointed out.
‘I know. Go to sleep.’
It was a long time before I nodded off. The temptation to get up and squeeze into the bed was ever-present. Either she would open her body to me or push me away.
I stayed on the mattress and listened to her breathing gradually grow heavier until she was asleep.
In my dream the searing light was there once more. I tried to get out of the burning house, but to no avail. The staircase was missing. There was no way down from the first floor. When I turned around, my grandmother was standing there. She shouted to my grandfather to tell him that dinner was ready; they were having boiled pike.
At that point the dream ended abruptly, with no conclusion.
I was woken by the sound of an engine. I sat up and discovered that the bed was empty, and Lisa’s clothes and handbag were gone. I ran outside; her boat was just pulling away. When she saw me she waved and pointed to the jetty. I walked across the damp grass; she had left a folded piece of paper under a stone on the bench. The name of her newspaper was at the top.
You were sleeping so deeply that I didn’t want to wake you. But at least you know a little bit more about who I am now.
I climbed down into the water. The cold sliced through my body. I counted to ten out loud before heaving myself onto the jetty, then I ran back to the caravan and got into bed.
I woke several hours later, finally feeling rested. I decided I needed to work out how I was going to deal with the risk of being arrested. As I yanked back the curtain the fitting came away from the plastic wall; I threw the curtain out of the door. If it didn’t want to be there, I wasn’t going to waste time trying to fix it.
I went outside. If I was going to be able to think clearly, I needed to move. I put my binoculars around my neck and made my way down to the skiff. It was half full of water, and I had to bail it out before I set off for the skerry where my tent was.
The wind was a north-easterly. Far away on the horizon I could see a dark bank of cloud. I rowed to the skerry as fast as I could in order to warm myself up and get my circulation going.
The tent was empty, but I could see straight away that someone had made a fire among the stones. Next to a juniper bush lay empty tins that had contained American corned beef. There were no other traces of the person who had been using my campsite. I walked around the skerry to see if I could find anything; an empty milk carton was jammed between some smaller rocks, but it could simply have drifted ashore.
I wondered whether to leave a message for the mysterious visitor. I crawled into the tent and stretched out on my sleeping bag.
As I lay there with the grey light seeping in through the porous fabric, I thought that Lisa Modin was closer to me than I had dared to believe possible. The age difference between us was considerable, but I was starting to believe that she needed me in some way, just as I needed her.
It was an exciting prospect. I headed home without leaving a message on the skerry. To give myself more exercise, I rowed around my island before mooring at the jetty.
I would make a plan. Not just for the next few days, but for the future. I would suggest to Lisa that we took a trip together. If there was a place she dreamed of visiting, I would pay for us to go there. If she didn’t have anywhere specific in mind, I would make suggestions. Somewhere hot. The Caribbean perhaps, or even further afield — a Pacific island.
For the first time since the fire I was in a good mood. I hurried up to the caravan, eager to start formulating my thoughts. As I stepped inside, my phone rang. I recognised the number.
It was Louise. She was talking fast, and her tone was forced. The line was bad too; I asked her to slow down. She said she didn’t have much time. I could tell that she was frightened and on the verge of tears. Stammering, almost shouting when I interrupted her to say that I could hardly hear her, she told me that she had been arrested. She was being held by the police in Paris and needed my help. I tried to ask her what had happened, but she wasn’t listening; she just kept repeating that she needed help.
The connection was broken. Her voice echoed inside my head. I tried her number but couldn’t get through.
I had never heard her sound so scared. I went outside, taking the phone with me in case she called again. I sat on my grandfather’s bench even though the wind had increased, and I immediately started to shiver.
My passport had been lost in the fire, but I knew that it was possible to obtain a provisional passport at the larger Swedish airports. I called the bank and managed to speak to the clerk who had helped me before. My new card had arrived.
I didn’t need to give the matter any more thought. I called Jansson and asked him to pick me up in an hour. Naturally he wondered if the engine was giving me trouble again.