She often heard people say how amazing it must be to make a living as a writer. To be in charge of her own schedule, to be her own boss. That always annoyed Erica. Much as she loved her work and realized how fortunate she was, it wasn’t as easy as everyone seemed to think. Freedom was not something she associated with being an author. On the contrary, when she was writing, it consumed her 24/7. Sometimes she was envious of people who went off to work, put in their eight hours, and left it all behind them as soon as they set off home. She could never put her work aside, and with success came demands and expectations that had to be combined with her life as the mother of young children.
But it was hard to claim that her work was more important than Patrik’s. He protected people, solved crimes, and helped to make society function better, while she wrote books that were read as entertainment. So she put up with the fact that she was usually the one who drew the short straw, even though it sometimes made her feel like screaming.
With a sigh she got up and went to join her husband in the kitchen.
‘Are they asleep?’ asked Patrik, taking out the fixings for his favourite sandwich: flatbread, butter, caviar, and cheese.
Erica shuddered, knowing his next step would be to dunk the sandwich in a cup of hot chocolate.
‘Yes, for once I managed to get them to take a nap at the same time. They had a good play session this morning, so all three of them were worn out.’
‘Great,’ said Patrik, sitting down at the kitchen table to eat.
Erica went back to the living room to fit in a little more writing before the children woke up. Stolen hours. That was all she could count on these days.
She was dreaming of fire. Horror etched on his face, Vincent was pressing his nose against the windowpane. Behind him she saw the flames shoot up, higher and higher. They were getting closer to him, singeing his blond locks as he screamed soundlessly. She wanted to throw herself at the glass, shattering it so she could rescue him from the flames that threatened to engulf him. But no matter how she tried, her body refused to obey.
Then she heard Tobias’s voice. It was filled with reproach. He hated her because she couldn’t save Vincent, because she was standing there watching as he was burned alive right before their eyes.
‘Ebba! Ebba!’
His voice made her try again. She had to run forward and break the glass. She had to…
‘Ebba, wake up!’
Someone was tugging at her shoulders and forcing her to sit up. Slowly the dream faded. She wanted to hold on to it, throw herself into the flames, and maybe for one brief moment hold Vincent’s little body in her arms before they both perished.
‘You have to wake up. Fire!’
Suddenly she was fully awake. The smell of smoke prickled her nostrils, making her cough so hard that her throat hurt. When she looked up she saw that smoke was billowing through the doorway.
‘We have to get out!’ shouted Tobias. ‘Crawl underneath the smoke. I’ll follow you. I’m going to see if I can put out the fire.’
Ebba rolled out of bed and dropped to the floor. She could feel the heat of the floorboards against her cheek. Her lungs were burning, and she felt so terribly tired. How could she possibly manage to move? She wanted to surrender, to sleep. She shut her eyes and felt a heavy lethargy spread through her body. She would rest here for a moment. Just sleep for a while.
‘Get up! You have to get up!’ Tobias’s voice was shrill, rousing her from her torpor. He wasn’t usually scared of anything. Now he was yanking on her arm, hauling her on to all fours.
Reluctantly she began crawling forward. Fear had begun to take hold of her too. With every breath she could feel more smoke filling her lungs, like a slow-acting poison. But she’d rather die from smoke than from fire. The thought of her skin burning was enough to make her move faster as she crawled out of the room.
All of a sudden she got confused. She ought to know which way the stairs were, but it felt as though her brain had stopped functioning. The only thing she could see was a thick grey fog. Panicking, she started crawling straight ahead, so that at least she wouldn’t get stuck in the smoke.
As she reached the stairs, Tobias raced past, holding a fire extinguisher in his hands. He ran down the stairs in three bounds, as Ebba stared after him. It was like in her dream – her body no longer seemed willing to obey her, and her joints refused to move. Helplessly she stayed where she was, down on all fours, as the smoke got thicker and thicker. She was coughing again. One fit of coughing followed another. Her eyes were running, and her thoughts shifted to Tobias, but she didn’t have the energy to worry about him.
Again she felt an overwhelming urge to give up. To disappear, to rid herself of the grief that was tearing her apart, body and soul. She felt that she was on the verge of fainting, so she lay down, resting her head on her arms, and closed her eyes. Everything around her was soft and warm. A great lethargy again came over her, welcoming her. It meant her no harm, it wanted only to receive her and make her whole.
‘Ebba!’ Tobias was pulling on her arm but she resisted. She wanted to be carried off to that beautiful, quiet place she was heading towards. Then she felt a slap on her face, a blow that made her cheek sting. Shaken, she pulled herself up and looked into Tobias’s face. His expression was both worried and angry.
‘The fire’s out,’ he said. ‘But we can’t stay here.’
He made an attempt to pull her up, but she pushed him away. He had taken from her the one opportunity for rest that she’d had in a long time. Furious, she pounded her fists against his chest. It was a huge relief to let loose all her rage and disappointment, and she kept on striking him as hard as she could, until he finally caught hold of her wrists. Gripping them tight, he drew her towards him. He pressed her face against his chest, held her close. She could hear his heart beating fast, and the sound made her cry. Then she let him lift her up. He carried her out, and when the cold night air filled her lungs, she let go and sank into a daze.
FJÄLLBACKA 1908
They arrived early in the morning. Her mother was already up with the little ones, while Dagmar still lolled in bed, savouring the warmth under the covers. That was the difference between being her mother’s real child and one of the bastard kids that she cared for. Dagmar was special.
‘What’s going on?’ shouted her father from the bedroom. Both he and Dagmar had been awakened by an insistent pounding on the door.
‘Open up! It’s the police!’
Then whoever it was evidently lost all patience because the door was torn open, and a man wearing a police uniform stormed into the house.
Frightened, Dagmar sat up in bed, trying to hide behind the blankets.
‘The police?’ Her father came into the kitchen, fumbling to button up his trousers. His sunken chest was sparsely covered with grey hair. ‘If you’ll just let me put on a shirt, I’m sure I can straighten everything out. There must be some misunderstanding. This is the home of respectable people.’
‘Does Helga Svensson live here?’ asked the policeman. Two more officers were waiting behind him. They had to stand close together because the kitchen was cramped and filled with beds. At the moment they had five young children living in the house.
‘My name is Albert Svensson and Helga is my wife,’ said Pappa. By now he had put on his shirt and was standing there with his arms folded.
‘Where is your wife?’ There was a note of urgency in the policeman’s voice.