Missing

He came back on the third day after his first visit. Lying very still, she listened as the door opened and closed. 'Sylla?'

So it was the boy. But she couldn't see the door, so there might be someone with him.

'Sylla? It's Tab. OK, Patrik. Where are you?'

She peeped round the chimney-shaft. He was alone.

His face lit up when he saw her.

'Great. I thought maybe you'd moved on.'

She sighed and got up.

'I thought about it, believe me, but there aren't that many free pitches.'

Then she noticed that he was carrying a bulging rucksack and held a rolled-up mat under his arm. 'Off some place?' 'I'm staying here.' 'Here?'

'Sure. I'm shacking up here tonight, if that's OK by you?'

She shook her head helplessly.

'Why yes – but why?'

'It's cool. I want to experience it.'

She sighed, looking around the attic.

'Patrik, this isn't a game. I don't sleep here because it's a fun thing to do.'

'What's your reason then?' This was irritating.

'The reason is that I've got nowhere else to go just now.' He must have felt that she needed persuading and got something out from his rucksack. It was a grill-bag. 'Spare-ribs. Would you like some?'

She had to smile at the way he had brought her a bribe. He asked again, his head a little to the side. 'Please, can I stay here tonight?' She shrugged.

'I can't stop you, I suppose. But what would your parents say to your sleeping rough?' 'Never mind.'

This worried her. Christ, he might have told his parents of his plans.

'Do they know where you are?'

Now he was looking at her with eyes that said how-thick-can-you-be.

'Dad's out driving his taxi all night and Mum's away on some kind of course.'

'Does anybody else know that you're here?' He sighed.

'You're so fucking anxious. No, no one knows where I am.' Anxious? You'd be anxious too, if only you knew where your bit of harmless fun would get you. Boyo, you're about to share a night in an attic with a wanted serial killer, probably a religious maniac.

'Fine. No problem. You're welcome.'

He didn't need to be asked twice, deciding quickly to spread out his sleeping mat on the platform in front of the great clock. She thought it better to be able to keep an eye on him and pulled her own mat to the other side of the chimney-shaft. He examined his handiwork with satisfaction and then sat down, looking at her expectantly.

'Are you hungry? Would you like some of this stuff?'

Couldn't deny that. Baked beans had its limitations.

'Sure, if you've got enough.'

He tore open the bag and spread it out on the floor between them. Then he added ready-made potato salad, two tins of Coke and two bags of crisps.

'Help yourself.'

What a feast! She came and sat next to him. He seemed to be just as hungry as she was and they ate in silence. Each spare-rib was gnawed down to the bone before being put back in the bag next to the uneaten ribs. When the two piles were almost the same height, she was so full it seemed impossible to eat a thing more. She leaned back against the wall.

He sounded surprised.

'Are you done already? I bought double helpings.' 'That's nice of you. We'll keep some for tomorrow.' His mouth was still full.

'Maybe your stomach has shrunk. Seemingly it does if you don't get much food.'

Fascinating. Sounded true, too. He must have been used to eating his fill, because he immediately started on another spare-rib. By now, even his cheeks were smeared with oil.

'Shit. Where do you go to wash?'

Sibylla shrugged. 'If you're homeless you've got to get used to mess. Running water is sheer luxury.'

He stared at his sticky hands. Then he looked at her hands.

She held them up in front of him. Only her thumb and index finger on one hand had touched the food. He quickly licked his fingers and wiped them on the legs of his trousers. Then he looked around.

'Right. Now what?'

'Now what – what?'

I mean, you can't just… like, sit here? What do you usually do?'

Ah, the little person inside that almost fully-grown body is quite clueless.

'What do you usually do? When you don't hole up in attics and play at being homeless?'

'Mess around with my computer, I suppose.' She nodded and drank some Coke. 'Not so easy if you've got nowhere to stay.' He grinned.

'Maybe ogling the telly's the answer, then.'

She went back to her corner and crawled into her sleeping bag, sticking her hands into her armpits to keep them warm. Then she turned her head to watch him.

He was obviously bored. Already. Failing other distractions, he had started tidying up after their meal. The clock behind him showed ten minutes past six.

When he had finished clearing up, he rolled out his sleeping bag and followed her example. It was a cheap model, which meant that he would be cold during the night. That was helpful. He might leave her alone after that.

He was lying on his back with his hands under his head.

'Why did you become homeless? Haven't you ever lived any place?'

She sighed.

I did live somewhere once.' 'Where?'

'Somewhere in Småland.' 'Why did you leave?' it's a long story.'

He turned his head and looked at her.

'Go ahead, I'd like to hear it. It's not as if, like, we're in a hurry.'

They had supported her in the shower afterwards and then wheeled her across to the maternity ward. In four of the five beds in the room sat recently delivered mothers with their babies. They all greeted her pleasantly when she was placed in a bed next to the window, but she immediately rolled over on her side. The window had blue-and-white striped curtains. A small border had come off the bottom on one of them. Looking out meant that she didn't have to see them, but she couldn't keep out the sounds.

Initially, no one asked her anything. They were all preoccupied with minding their own new-born babies.

She had been longing to sleep on her front, but it was still impossible. Her belly was still really big, even though it was empty. She could sense it's sudden emptiness. Her breasts were aching.

They came to see after about an hour. First, they got her to sit up, then stand and walk. Walking hurt. She could feel the tense pain from the stitches they'd used to sew her up with. Or at least, that's what they said it was.

Next, she was to speak with the doctor. She decided to stand instead of accepting his offer of a chair. He nodded at her and started leafing through her notes.

'Now Sibylla, this seems to have gone very well.'

She said nothing and he looked up at her quickly, before returning to the brown folder.

'Tell me, how are feeling?'

Empty, hollow. Used up and abandoned.

'What was it?'

He looked up again.

'Was what?'

'The baby, what kind was it?'

This bothered him, maybe because he was the one meant to ask the questions. 'A male.'

He bent over the notes.

A little boy. She had given birth to a little boy with dark hair.

'Please, can't I see him?'

He cleared his throat, apparently displeased with her unexpected line of talk.

'No, I'm afraid not. It's routine here, nothing personal. In cases such as yours, it has proved to be the best policy. For the mother's own sake, you see.'

Ah yes, for her sake. Why didn't it ever occur to anyone that she should be asked about what was best for her? How come they all knew already what was best?

He quickly finished their talk. When she returned to her room, the women were smiling in welcome. A nurse helped her into bed and she turned her back at all of them.

During the afternoon visiting-hour, fathers and relations and friends poured into the room to admire the babies. The visitors pretended not to see her back.