‘Want a lift?’
The driver was a man in his mid-forties with slicked-back hair and a moustache that went all the way down past his chin. Beside him in the passenger seat was a big black dog. Now she knew whose car this was. Kent Rask. Tomas’s father.
She swallowed.
‘Where are you going?’
Laura glanced around anxiously. The narrow road was dark and deserted. Her knees were twitching with the cold.
‘Gärdsnäset,’ she said as firmly as she could.
Kent Rask looked her up and down. Curled his lip in something that might have been a smile.
‘Hop in.’
He shooed the dog into the back seat and opened the passenger door. Laura perched on the edge of the stained seat; the car stank of animals, cigarette smoke, sweat and oil.
Kent lit a cigarette, watching her with amusement as she fumbled for the seat belt.
‘I took the belts out,’ he informed her with a grin. ‘They got in the way.’
There was a horrible grating noise from the gearbox, and the car began to move.
‘You’re Hedda Aulin’s niece.’
A statement, not a question. He took a deep drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke in the general direction of the partly open window, as Jack always did.
‘Mmm,’ Laura said. In spite of the unpleasant smells, it was good to be in the warm.
The car picked up speed. The broken headlight meant that only half the road was visible. The dog had plonked himself in the middle of the back seat, with his nose just centimetres from Laura’s left ear, tongue hanging out of his open mouth. He had big, sharp teeth.
‘The girl from the city, whose daddy is rolling in money.’
He was teasing her. She didn’t reply, but it didn’t seem to bother him.
‘Your aunt’s doing well too. Fully booked for the whole summer. She and the orphan kid have done a good job with Gärdsnäset.’
Laura couldn’t let that go.
‘His name is Jack.’
Kent grinned. ‘Is it now?’ He took a fresh drag, his other hand draped nonchalantly over the wheel. He had a tattoo – three dots – in the fold between his thumb and forefinger. On the back of his hand there was a triangle, or maybe it was a pyramid.
He put his foot down. The road had been cleared, but there were still patches of packed snow.
‘You’ve got your own little gang out there. You, my Tomas, Peter Larsson, Ulf Jensen’s girl. Hedda’s little flock of daycare darlings. And Orphan Jack, of course.’
Laura looked away. They’d already covered a kilometre; one more to the turning, and she could get out.
‘You and Iben Jensen are best friends, aren’t you? Her father’s a stroppy bastard. All the times I’ve had to listen to the fucker going on about how Källegården has been in the family since sixteen hundred and something. You must have seen the coat of arms he claims they found on the wall when they were redecorating the farmhouse.’
He snorted, wound the window down a little further and flicked the cigarette butt through the gap.
‘He’s trying to claim that the family’s descended from nobility, but I’m sure he painted that fucking coat of arms himself. Made the whole thing up to attract attention.’
He took a bend so fast that the car skidded. Laura clutched the seat. They were nearly at the turning; he ought to start slowing down at any second.
‘And he watches that girl like a hawk. God help the boy who tries to get anywhere near her. Unless he’s got a fancy surname, he won’t be good enough in Ulf’s eyes, I can promise you that. No village mongrels sniffing around his purebred show bitch. What do you think, King?’
The dog pricked up his ears at the sound of his name.
‘Mind you, there’s no denying that Iben’s turned into a pretty girl,’ he went on. ‘So have you. What was your name again?’
He placed his right hand on the gear stick, his little finger almost touching her knee. She moved both legs as close to the door as possible.
‘Laura,’ she managed to say.
The sign for the holiday village must be coming up, but Kent showed no sign of slowing down.
‘Laura, that’s it. Laura Aulin. How old are you, Laura?’
‘Nearly sixteen.’
‘Aha – then you’ll be legal.’
He grinned again, more unpleasantly this time.
Laura quickly looked away. In spite of the broken headlight, she could see the sign less than a hundred metres away.
‘You can drop me off here,’ she said.
Kent still didn’t slow down.
‘I’ve got a little errand to do first, Laura. A couple of things I need to pick up for your aunt. I thought we could go and fetch them, then I can take you all the way home.’
‘There’s no need, I can walk the last bit. Aunt Hedda’s waiting for me, she’ll be worried if I don’t . . .’
‘I’m sure quarter of an hour here or there won’t make any difference. It will give us a chance to get to know each other better.’
They sped past the sign. The next turning was for the Jensens’ farm.
‘Please stop!’
‘Calm down – this won’t take long.’
Her fear seemed to amuse him.
Laura groped for the door handle, glanced out of the window at the trees swishing by. She would never dare to jump out at this speed, and if she did, she’d hurt herself badly. But after Källegården there were only forest tracks. No neighbours, no one anywhere near, apart from the castle.
Suddenly, the dog began to bark. Laura almost screamed.
‘Quiet, King!’
Kent turned around and shook his fist at the animal.
Up ahead Laura saw several grey, four-legged shapes. Three large deer came into focus, standing in the middle of the road with their heads up, making no attempt to move out of the way.
‘Look out!’ she yelled.
Kent slammed his foot on the brake. Laura was hurled forwards and banged her head on the dashboard. Noises reverberated inside the car – Kent swearing, the dog barking, the squeal of the brakes, the tyres screeching on the tarmac, then on snow and gravel.
A thud, then everything went quiet.
Laura felt for the door handle. The cold night air cleared her head. The car was at an angle, the left front wing down in the ditch. A cloud of steam was rising from the bonnet. She scrambled out, slipped a couple of times before she managed to get onto the road. There was a smell, a taste of burning in the air. Her head was pounding after the encounter with the dashboard. Kent was still swearing as he tried to open the driver’s door, which was blocked by the ditch.
Instinctively she began to run in the direction of Gärdsnäset. The turning was five hundred metres away, but before that there was a path through the forest; she and Iben used it when they were cycling to each other’s houses. She could follow it in the pitch dark if necessary.
Behind her she heard a car door slam, then the grating sound of the starter motor.
‘Don’t start, don’t start, don’t start,’ she prayed, on the verge of tears.
The roar of an engine made her glance over her shoulder, and she saw the reverse and brake lights through a thick fog of exhaust fumes. They were moving slowly, then faster and faster as the car regained purchase on the road surface. Laura tried to speed up. The path was still over a hundred metres away, and the road was surrounded on both sides by thick, almost impenetrable fir trees.
She looked back again. Kent had managed to turn the car in her direction. The single headlight shone through the darkness as he set off – but there were lights approaching from the opposite direction too. A car with its lights on full beam.
She raised both arms, waving frantically to get the driver to stop. The one-eyed Volvo was right behind her now, but she kept on running, made sure she was clearly visible to the oncoming driver. She heard the sound of brakes, first from the Volvo, then others that were definitely newer. With a huge wave of relief she recognised Iben’s father’s pickup truck. The door opened and Ulf Jensen climbed out.