Harbour

Where are you? Where the hell are you?

His plan was simple. If he found the moped, he would also find Henrik and Björn. He would wait for them, and when they turned up he would…that was where the plan came to an end. But he had Spiritus, and something would be done.

He was exhausted and hungry after searching for many hours. He would have to go home for something to eat if he was going to be able to carry on.

When he reached the village road again he considered going back down to the Shack to wait, after all they might come looking for him again. Yes, that's what he would do. He would spend the night at the Shack and wait for them, whatever happened.

Since there was more food in his grandmother's house he went there first and made himself a couple of roast beef sandwiches, which he ate gazing out across the sea. It was almost twilight, and he was waiting for the lighthouse at Gåvasten to start flashing.

He took a few swigs of what he had started to think of as Maja- water and ran his fingers absent-mindedly over the telephone dial. Anna-Greta had never bothered to get a phone with a keypad, despite the fact that this made any contact with computerised organisations so much more difficult. She wanted to talk to a real person, that was how she put it.

Before he had even considered how and why, he found himself dialling Cecilia's number. Just because it was such fun to use a phone with a dial, and he couldn't think of another number to ring.

He didn't think Cecilia would be at home, and as the signals rang out an immense desolation began to echo in his ears. He felt so horribly and irrevocably lonely. This wasn't a feeling of panic, or the fear that had seized him so many times in the past; this was a great sorrow, and the overwhelming feeling that he was totally alone in the world.

'Hello?'

Anders took a deep breath and forced back the sorrow as much as possible, but his voice was weak as he said, 'Hi, it's only me. Again.'

There was the usual pause as Cecilia switched from anticipating a pleasant chat to expecting a difficult conversation.

'You shouldn't call here, Anders.'

'No, I don't suppose I should. But at least I'm sober.'

'Well, that's good.'

'Yes.'

There was a silence between them, and Anders looked down towards the Shack, waiting in the twilight.

'Do you remember that time when you gave me a lift on your bike? After I bought you an ice cream?'

Cecilia gave an exaggerated sigh. However, when she replied her voice was slightly less dismissive than in previous conversations. At least he was sober, as he had said.

'Yes,' she said. 'I do.'

'Me too. What are you doing?'

'Now?'

'Yes.'

'I was having a little sleep.' She hesitated before adding something a little more personal, 'I didn't really have anything else to do.'

Anders nodded and looked out over the sea; his gaze had just reached Gåvasten when the first flash came.

'Are you happy?' he asked.

'Hardly ever. What about you?'

'No. What happened with that bloke you met?'

'I don't want to talk about that. How about you?'

'What do you mean?'

'What are you doing?'

One flash, two flashes, three flashes. It was still much too light for the intermittent beam to build a pathway across the sea. Four flashes.

'I'm looking for Maja,' he said.

There was no reply from Cecilia, just a click in Anders' ear as she put the receiver down. He waited. After a while he could hear her crying some way off.

'Cilia?' he said, and then louder, 'Cilia?'

She picked up the receiver, her voice thick, 'How…how can you be looking for Maja?'

'Because I think I can find her.'

'You can't, Anders.'

He had no intention of starting to explain everything, it would take hours and Cecilia wouldn't believe him anyway. One flash, two flashes. Something happened. He suddenly felt as if the flashes from the lighthouse were warm. And good. A light found its way inside

him and a terrified little pocket of joy leapt in the air.

'Do you remember that song they sang at Dad's funeral?' he asked. 'As long as the little boat can sail, as long as the heart can beat, as long as the sun sparkles on the blue billows?'

'Yes, but…'

'That's how it is. That's exactly how it is. It doesn't end. Everything is still here.'

Cecilia sighed again, and he could picture her slowly shaking her head.

'What are you saying, sweet-'

Cecilia swallowed the last word. Out of habit she had been about to end the sentence with 'sweetheart'. Just the way they used to talk to each other. She cleared her throat and said in a controlled voice, 'I don't think we should talk anymore now.'

'No,' said Anders. 'You're probably right. But I wish you well. I might not ring you again.'

'Why do you say that?'

'Do you want me to ring you again, then?'

'No. Well…but why did you say that?'

'Just in case.' Anders swallowed a lump that had started to grow in his throat and said quickly, 'I love you,' then hung up. He sat for a long time with his hand resting on the receiver, as if to prevent it from jumping up in the air or ringing.

He hadn't known before he said it out loud. Perhaps it wasn't even true. But after hearing her voice, her more-friendly voice in his ear for several minutes, it had suddenly come over him. Perhaps it was just the longing for another person, or nostalgia evoked by happier memories, perhaps he idealised her now that he no longer saw her, perhaps it wasn't true.

But love? Who can say what is just a mire of dark needs and desires, and what is true love? Does such a thing exist? Can't it be that if we say, 'I love you' to another person and know that we mean it, then that is love, regardless of the motive?

Maja or no Maja, he loved the person sitting at the other end of the line far away from him. What the reason might be, what had changed, he had no idea. That was just the way it was.

It was almost dark over the bay now, and when Anders rested his elbows on the windowsill he could see the beam of the lighthouse on Gåvasten flickering like a golden street across the water, disappearing for five seconds and then reappearing, disappearing.

Where the streets are paved with gold.

He blinked a couple of times then shook his head at his own stupidity. Why should the moped necessarily be on Domarö just because that was where they used to ride around? It could be anywhere, on any island, he of all people ought to know that. The sea was their highway.

The sea is so big, the sea is so big…

But they couldn't just go riding around whenever they felt like it; if that were the case, then somebody would have spotted them. It must be somewhere that wasn't too far away, a place where there weren't too many people…

Anders went into the kitchen and fetched the big torch, checking that the batteries were working. Then he pulled Simon's jacket on over his Helly Hansen top and zipped it up with Maja's snowsuit tucked inside, with the result that he looked pregnant. He moved Spiritus to the jacket pocket.

When he got outside it wasn't quite as dark as it looked from inside, but in about half an hour it would be evening. He quickened his steps down to the jetty, keeping his fingers crossed that Göran would have brought back Simon's boat, as he had promised.

He had. The scruffy boat that had been involved in so much over the past few days lay scraping gently against the jetty and Anders climbed aboard, untied the ropes and started the engine.

It seemed perfect, almost too perfect, and he didn't know whether Henrik and Björn had a feeling for such coincidences, but he suspected that they did. You can't idolise Morrissey and The Smiths without nursing a longing to go back to the beginning, to the times and places where everything started, for good or evil.

Anders swung the boat around half a turn, opened the throttle and set off, heading straight for Kattholmen.