‘He was good too, especially when it came to his verbal skills. He knew how to capture an audience.’
Kerstin turns the pages, stops at a newspaper cutting from Helsingborgs Dagblad.
‘Look at this.’
David, Nettan and Sebastian again, a few years older now. Nettan has grown into her front teeth, Sebastian into his glasses. David is displaying an early version of that charming smile.
TORNABY TRIO’S SUCCESS IN RADIO QUIZ
Thea skims the text. David is quoted the most; he says he wants to be a fighter pilot and fly a Saab 37 Viggen when he grows up. Nettan wants to be an actress or a company director, or a musician because she plays the piano. Sebastian has the least to say. He wants to be an engineer like his father, or maybe a chess player.
‘They went all the way to the semi-final – lost by one point to the team that won the whole thing.’ Kerstin’s voice is filled with pride. ‘I know teachers shouldn’t have favourites, every class and every pupil is special in their own way – but there’s something about your first class. I can still remember all their names, and their parents were so supportive. I’d only just qualified, and I’d never set foot in Skåne, but the village welcomed me with open arms and made me feel at home right away.’
‘So how come you ended up in Tornaby of all places?’ Thea asks.
‘Oh, the usual reason when someone moves halfway across the country – love. It didn’t work out, but I fell in love with the area instead. I rented the lodge, got myself a horse, and that was that.’
‘And you’re not afraid of the dark?’ Dr Andersson interjects, as if she’s feeling left out of the conversation. ‘I’d be too scared to live out here in the marsh on my own, with no neighbours for several kilometres.’
Kerstin shakes her head. ‘After a tiring day in school I appreciate the peace and quiet. And of course I have the horses and Vanderbilt here to keep me company.’ She points to the cat, who has moved from the floor to the sofa. ‘I love this house, and the forest, and I intend to stay here as long as I have my health, and the foundation allows.’
She pauses, catches a sneeze in a handkerchief that she produces from her sleeve. Then she turns her attention to the scrapbook once more. Another newspaper article, a much later date.
BELOVED TORNABY TEACHER CELEBRATES TWENTY-FIFTH ANNIVERSARY
‘That was 2006. The house was full of flowers, and Jeanette came all the way from Switzerland to see me!’
She shows Thea a large colour photograph with smiling people arranged in two rows. There is a banner above them:
CONGRATULATIONS, MISS MILLER! WE LOVE YOU!
It takes a few seconds for Thea to realise that this is the same group who were in the first picture, in the same room and standing in exactly the same places twenty-five years later. The rounded, childish faces have acquired beards and double chins, the serviceable school clothes have been replaced by smart shirts, jackets and pretty dresses.
David is handsome now, his teeth are sparkling white and his gaze is full of confidence. Nettan has shaken off her provincial roots and is wearing a trouser suit. Her hair and make-up are perfect – she is a businesswoman to her fingertips.
‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ Kerstin sounds even prouder, if that were possible. ‘They did it for me – as a surprise!’
The new version of Sebastian has swapped his glasses for contact lenses, and his hair is clearly thinning, even though he can’t be much more than thirty in the photograph.
‘Sebastian did his doctorate in Lund, then started a business with some friends. Microprocessors – very technical. The company was bought up by Sony, and he made a fortune. He bought a big house in Poland for his parents when they retired.’
‘How lovely.’ Thea can’t think of anything else to say.
She thinks she recognises someone else – a square-built man with a fleshy face. He’s wearing an ill-fitting blazer, and he looks extremely uncomfortable.
‘Isn’t he the guy who was up the ladder outside?’
‘Jan-Olof? Yes, that’s right. He was the fourth member of their little gang. A quartet, you could call them.’
The final sentence hangs awkwardly in the air, and suddenly Thea thinks back to the Polaroid photo. Four children in the spring of 1986.
‘Could I just check something?’ She points to the scrapbook.
‘Of course.’
Thea leafs through the pages until she finds what she’s looking for.
TORNABY SCHOOL 1986, YEAR 6
She runs her finger over the faces, spots David and his three friends. Dr Andersson clears her throat and looks meaningfully at her watch.
‘Time we made a move, Thea.’
Thea ignores her. She takes the Polaroid out of her pocket, smoothes it down and places it next to the scrapbook. One of the masked children is wearing a striped jumper that is a lot like the one Sebastian has on in the school photo. It can’t be a coincidence.
‘Where did you get that from?’ Dr Andersson asks sharply. Both she and Kerstin have moved to stand behind Thea.
‘I found it in an old tin in the forest yesterday. Could this be David and his friends? Nettan, Jan-Olof and Sebastian?’
Kerstin and the doctor exchange a long look, which answers the question as far as Thea is concerned. ‘What’s this about?’
‘Hasn’t David told you anything?’ Kerstin asks quietly.
‘About what?’
Another look, followed by an almost imperceptible shake of the head from the doctor, who is no longer so talkative.
Kerstin takes a deep breath. ‘About poor Elita Svart. The spring sacrifice.’
13
Walpurgis Night 1986
Men are so easy to manipulate. They lie at home in their beds, fantasising about me. What they want to do to me. Elita Svart is the kind of girl you screw, not the kind you marry. A gypsy, a slut, a little whore.
Which is why I behave exactly as everyone expects. I tease and tempt them. I’m good at it, I’ve had plenty of practice, but deep down I’m tired of this role.
One final performance remains. And then, dear reader, it will all be over.
You haven’t forgotten that I’m going to die, have you?
‘Fucking hell!’ Arne swore out loud as he loaded the white plastic containers of moonshine into the boot of the police car. Lasse’s ‘distillery’ was a shed mounted on blocks of concrete out in the marsh, hidden by brambles and undergrowth. Only the muddy tyre tracks on the ground outside revealed the presence of the low wooden building.
Inside it stank of damp and mould. Arne’s uniform shirt had sweat patches under the arms, and his shoes were covered in mud. He should never have come here, he should have stayed far away from this fucking swamp, far away from Svartgården. Instead he’d allowed himself to be dragged back, down into the morass.
He’d been seventeen when the incident happened. It had all started on the school bus, coming home from Ljungslöv. He’d been secretly in love with Ida Axelsson for years, and she was sitting just a few rows in front of him. She’d always been pretty, but that particular evening there was a kind of glow about her. All their contemporaries on the bus had flocked around her, and when they reached their destination, Arne wanted to see more. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye just yet. And so he’d followed Ida at a distance. He hadn’t meant any harm.
Without knowing exactly how it had happened, he found himself standing in the darkness outside her window. He didn’t remember how long he was there. Five minutes maybe, or ten. He watched Ida as she moved from room to room. She played a record, sang along, danced.