Harbour

Behind him he heard the slap of footsteps and a faint rattling noise. He turned in his chair with some difficulty and saw Johan pushing a wheelbarrow towards him through the grass. He was wearing only a pair of swimming trunks and a voluminous shirt covered in damp patches, and his hair was soaking wet.

'Johan?' said Simon. 'What have you got there?'

Johan grinned and pushed the wheelbarrow forward. It contained all the chains and padlocks Simon had left on the seabed. He tipped them out at Simon's feet.

'I thought it was a bit of a waste.'

Simon laughed. He would have liked to stroke Johan's hair, but for one thing he couldn't manage to get to his feet at this particular moment, and for another he wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do. Instead he simply nodded and said, 'It would have been. Thank you. Sit down if you like.'

Johan sat down on the other garden chair and let out a great puff of air.

'However did you manage?' asked Simon. 'They must have been heavy.'

'They were,' said Johan. 'I couldn't lift them, so I had to fasten them to a hook and drag them ashore, one by one.'

That was what Simon himself usually did, and what he had intended to do this time. However, he had no intention of telling Johan this, and he was grateful to be spared the job.

'Not bad,' said Simon.

'No,' said Johan, reaching into the breast pocket of his shirt.

'And then there's this. It was in the sack.'

He handed a thin, wedge-shaped piece of metal to Simon, giving him a conspiratorial look. Simon raised his eyebrows and pushed it into his own breast pocket.

Johan leaned back in his chair and said, 'I still don't understand how you do it.'

'Do you want to know?'

Johan sat bolt upright. 'Yes!'

Simon nodded. 'OK, go and fetch a bottle of Pommac from the fridge. My wallet is on the kitchen table; help yourself to five kronor for bringing back the chains. Then come back and I'll tell you.'

Johan shot out of his chair and raced inside. After thirty seconds he was back. Simon couldn't understand why he'd said that. The words had just flown out of his mouth. He never usually revealed his secrets. It must be the cognac, the atmosphere. And after all, Johan already knew the only part that really involved cheating.

So he told him. When he had finished the Pommac bottle was empty and the bay had darkened to a deep blue carpet, with the flashing light from Gåvasten lighthouse drawing thin scratches through it. A bat flitted around them, hunting for moths.

Johan let out a fizzy belch and said, 'I still think it sounds pretty dangerous.'

'Yes,' said Simon. 'But if you just…' He was struck by a thought, and raised a warning finger. 'You're not to go trying this yourself, Johan!'

'I won't.'

'Promise?' Simon extended his thumb towards Johan. 'Thumbs?'

Johan smiled and rubbed his thumb against Simon's. Then he inspected it as if to check if there might be a binding agreement somewhere in his thumbprint, and said, 'I think Mum's a little bit in love with you.'

'What makes you think that?'

Johan shrugged. 'I just do. She goes all peculiar.'

Simon emptied his brandy glass and refrained from pouring himself a refill. That was enough, a pleasant warmth suffused his whole body. He held up the glass, looking at the light from Gåvasten as it was refracted through the remains of the liquid around the rim, and said, 'Well, there are lots of reasons why people go peculiar.'

'I suppose there are, but…this is a particular kind of peculiar.'

Simon narrowed his eyes at Johan. 'You seem very well-informed about this kind of thing.'

'I know my mum.'

They sat in silence for a while. The only sound was the flapping of the bat's wings as it darted here and there, swooping after something only it could perceive. When the engine of a boat started up down in the harbour, the atmosphere was broken and Simon said, 'Can you help me up? I'm still a bit stiff. It'll be better tomorrow.'

Johan stood up and held out his hand to help Simon out of his chair. They stood facing one another. For a couple of seconds a mutual approval flowed between them. Then Simon patted Johan on the shoulder and said, 'Thanks again for your help. See you tomorrow.'

Johan nodded, took the wheelbarrow and left. Simon watched him go. When he had disappeared into the darkness beneath the aspen trees, Simon snorted and said quietly to himself, 'A particular kind of peculiar…'

Then he shuffled into his house and closed the door behind him.

The uninvited guest

The next morning Simon made a few calls, trying unsuccessfully to track down Marita. Then he sat down in the lilac arbour with a pen and paper to work out an alternative program for the performances at the community theatre.

He couldn't settle to the task. His thoughts kept sliding away towards the most extreme issues. Why was he carrying on with this at all, what was the point of everything, how is a person supposed to live a life with no future, and should you even bother.

This was his mood when Anna-Greta called out a brief, 'Thanks for yesterday, it was very good', on her way down to the jetty. He asked her to come and sit down for a while. She perched on the edge of the chair opposite him, and seemed uneasy. Simon wondered if this unease was a particular kind of peculiar, but of course he had no way of asking.

They talked about this and that, safe topics, and Anna-Greta had just settled more comfortably on her chair when Simon realised they were being observed. Standing by the gate, watching them, was Marita. Simon felt as if he had been caught out somehow and was just about to leap out of his chair, but the anger got there before the guilt. He stayed put and stared at Marita without moving a muscle.

Marita was blinking slowly, her eyelids moving in slow motion, as if it took a conscious effort for her to open and close them. Her hair was unwashed and she had dark circles under her eyes. She was scratching her arm mechanically. 'Well, would you look at that,' she said. 'Isn't that sweet.'

Simon continued to stare at her. From the corner of his eye he could see that Anna-Greta was about to get up, and he gestured to her to stay where she was. In a low voice, Simon asked the question that had become something of a mantra in recent years, 'Where have you been?'

Marita waved her head around in a gesture that could mean just about anything, and therefore meant: Here and there, hut mostly out in space.

Marita came and stood directly in front of Simon, looked down at him and said, 'I need money.'

'For what?'

She opened and closed her mouth; it sounded dry and sticky at the same time as she loosened her tongue from her palate.

'I'm going to Germany.'

'You can't. We've got work here.'

Marita's gaze slid between Anna-Greta and Simon. She seemed to be having some difficulty in focusing. 'I'm going to Germany. You have to give me some money.'

'I haven't got any money, and you're not going to Germany. Go inside and go to bed.'

Marita shook her head slowly, and seemed to be stuck fast in the same movement, as if her head were a pendulum and she had to keep it moving so that time would not come to a standstill. Anna-Greta stood up.

'I'm going.'

The sound of her voice attracted Marita's attention. She pointed at Anna-Greta. 'Have you got any money?'

'No, I haven't got any money for you.'

Marita's lips curled upwards in an imitation of a smile. 'You're carrying on with my husband. That means you have to pay, you must realise that.'

Simon shot up out of his chair, grabbed hold of Marita's wrist and pulled her towards the house. 'Shut your mouth!'

The violent movement made Marita stumble, and Simon dragged her along behind him towards the steps. Marita allowed herself to be hauled across the lawn for a few metres, then she yelled, 'Help! Help!'

Simon looked up in order to convey some kind of message to Anna-Greta with his eyes, I'm sorry or don't condemn me, but before he had time to formulate his expression he saw a man step out from behind the lilac bushes. Someone who had been standing there waiting.