‘Oh my,’ said Kristina. ‘That’s something you need to take seriously. Have you checked to make sure it’s not an ear infection? Children are forever bringing home illnesses when they go to day-care. I’ve always said that day-care centres are not the best solution. In my day, I stayed home with Patrik and Lotta until they started middle school. They didn’t need to go to day-care or stay with a babysitter for even a single day. And they were never sick. Our doctor was always praising me because they were so-’
Erica cut her off mid-flow. ‘The kids haven’t been there for weeks, so I don’t think the day-care centre is the culprit.’
‘If you say so,’ replied Kristina, looking hurt. ‘But at least you know my opinion. After all, who is it you call whenever the children are sick and the two of you have to work? I’m the one who always has to step in.’ She tossed her head, picked up the laundry basket, and left the room.
Erica slowly counted to ten. There was no denying that Kristina often helped out, but they certainly paid a high price for it.
Josef’s parents were both over forty when his mother received the highly unexpected news that she was pregnant. Having long since accepted the fact that they’d never have any children, they had arranged their lives accordingly, devoting all their time to the small tailor’s shop in Fjällbacka. Josef’s arrival changed everything. Although they felt great joy at the prospect of a son and heir, they also felt a great weight because of the responsibility of passing on their heritage, through him.
Josef lovingly studied the photograph of them, which he kept in a solid silver frame on his desk. Behind that photo stood framed pictures of Rebecka and the children. He’d always been the centre of his parents’ lives, and they would always be at the centre of his. That was something his family had to accept.
‘Dinner will be ready soon,’ said Rebecka as she cautiously entered his study.
‘I’m not hungry. You go ahead and eat,’ he said without glancing up. He had much more important things to do than eat.
‘Can’t you join us? Now that the children are home to visit?’
Josef looked at her in surprise. She usually never insisted on anything. Annoyance surged within him, but then he took a deep breath. She was right. These days the children seldom came home.
‘Okay, I’ll be right with you,’ he said with a sigh, closing his notebook. It was filled with ideas about how to shape the project, and he always carried it with him in case inspiration struck.
‘Thank you,’ said Rebecka. Then she turned on her heel and left.
Josef followed. In the dining room the table had already been set, and he noticed that she had used the good china. She had a slight tendency to be ostentatious, and it seemed to him absurd to go to such lengths just for the children, but he made no comment.
‘Hi, Pappa,’ said Judith, kissing his cheek.
Daniel stood up and came over to give his father a hug. For a moment Josef’s heart filled with pride, and he wished that his own father could have seen his grandchildren grow up.
‘Let’s sit down before the food gets cold,’ he said, taking his seat at the head of the table.
Rebecka had made Judith’s favourite dish: roast chicken with mashed potatoes. Josef suddenly realized how hungry he was, and it occurred to him that he’d forgotten to have lunch. After murmuring grace, Rebecka served the food, and they began eating in silence. After assuaging the worst of his hunger, Josef put down his knife and fork.
‘How’s it going with your studies?’
Daniel nodded. ‘I got top marks on all the exams during the summer course. Now it’s a matter of landing a good trainee position in the autumn.’
‘And I love my summer job,’ Judith interjected. Her eyes were bright with enthusiasm. ‘You should see how brave the kids are, Mamma. They have to endure all those difficult operations and radiation treatments and everything else imaginable, but they never complain and they never give up. They’re incredible.’
Josef took a deep breath. The success of his children did nothing to quell the uneasiness that was his constant companion. He knew that there was always a little more they could give, that they could reach a little higher. They had so much to live up to, so much to avenge, and it was his duty to ensure that they did all they could.
‘What about your research? Do you still have time for that?’ He fixed Judith with a piercing stare and saw how the eagerness was extinguished from her eyes. She wanted him to acknowledge her and offer some words of praise, but if he gave the children the impression that what they were doing was good enough, then they’d stop making an effort. And he couldn’t let that happen.
He didn’t wait for Judith to reply before he turned to Daniel. ‘I talked to the course instructor last week, and he said that you’d missed two days of class. Why was that?’
‘I had stomach problems,’ said Daniel. ‘I don’t think they’d have been too pleased if I’d sat there in the lecture hall, throwing up into a paper bag.’
‘Are you trying to be funny?’
‘No. That’s my honest answer.’
‘You know that I can always find out if you’re lying,’ said Josef. His knife and fork were still sitting on his plate. He’d lost his appetite. He hated the fact that he no longer had control over his children the way he had when they lived at home.
‘I had stomach problems,’ Daniel repeated, lowering his eyes. He too seemed to have lost his appetite.
Josef hastily rose to his feet. ‘I need to get back to work.’
As he retreated to his study, he thought they were probably glad to be rid of his presence. Through the door he could hear their voices and the clatter of china. Then Judith laughed, a loud, carefree laugh, sounding as clear as if she were sitting next to him. All of a sudden he realized that the children’s laughter, their joy, always became muted whenever he entered the room. Judith laughed again, and it felt like a knife turning in his heart. She never laughed like that around him, and he wondered whether things could have been different. At the same time, he had no idea how that might have been accomplished. He loved them so much that it caused him physical pain, but he could never be the father they wished for. He could only be the father that life had taught him to be and love them in his own way, by carrying on his heritage through them.
Gösta was staring at the flickering screen of the television. He could see people coming and going, and since he was watching Midsummer Murders, no doubt somebody was being murdered. But he had lost interest in the plot some time ago. His thoughts were somewhere else entirely.
On the coffee table in front of him was a plate with two open-face sandwiches. Skogaholm rye bread with butter and salami. Generally that was all he ever ate at home. It took too much effort and it was too depressing to cook for only one person.
The sofa he was sitting on was getting old, but he didn’t have the heart to get rid of it. He remembered how proud Maj-Britt had been when they brought it home. Several times he had caught her running her hand over the smooth, floral upholstery as if petting a kitten. He was barely allowed to sit on it during that first year. But the little lass had bounced and slid all over it. Laughing, Maj-Britt had held her hands as she jumped higher and higher on the groaning springs.
Now the upholstery was worn smooth, with big holes. In one place, next to the right armrest, a spring was sticking out. But he always sat on the left-hand side. That was his place, while the other side had belonged to Maj-Britt. In the evenings during that summer, the little lass had sat between them. She’d never seen a TV before, so she shrieked with delight whenever it was on. Her favourite programme had been the puppet show Drutten and Gena. And she could never sit still as she watched; she would squirm with sheer pleasure.