‘So what happened to Lasse and the others?’
‘They’re long gone, all of them. The thing is, Thea . . . What happened to Elita Svart was dreadful, and we’ve put it behind us. Tornaby is so much more than . . .’ Dr Andersson fumbles for the right phrase.
‘A dead gyppo kid,’ Thea supplies before she can stop herself. The words taste of poisonous mushrooms, perhaps bitter almonds.
‘Well, yes, no, I don’t . . .’ Dr Andersson shifts uncomfortably in her seat. ‘What I mean is, people don’t want to be reminded of all that. Dragging it up isn’t going to help you fit into the village community. Do you understand?’
Thea nods, but that word is still reverberating in her head. She hasn’t heard it since she was a teenager, when other people used to spit it at her the way the residents of Tornaby no doubt did at Elita.
In another life, another time.
Gyppo, gyppo, gyppo . . .
15
Walpurgis Night 1986
Leo is my big brother, even though we’re not actually related.
Eva-Britt has an old photograph of us on her bedside table. Leo’s ten, I’m six. We’re sitting on a bench together. He’s looking at something behind the camera, his expression serious. I am gazing admiringly at him, as if he’s the most fantastic person I’ve ever seen.
Now he’s the one who looks at me almost the same way. He wants us to run away together. He’s put it in his letters. Leo would do anything for me. Whatever I ask of him.
Leo lifted his duffel bag out of the baggage compartment of the minibus. He slung it over his shoulder, adjusted his moss-green beret and straightened his shoulders. Waved to his comrades as the minibus drove off.
He’d been looking forward to this moment for a long time, fantasising about every detail. How he would stand there in the middle of the yard in his uniform, what the place would smell like, sound like.
The dogs rushed towards him, wagging their tails and whimpering with excitement. His mother came down the rickety steps, with Lola following cautiously.
‘Leo! Leo!’
The voice made him turn around. Elita was running along the track from the paddock, mud splashing up over her riding boots, eyes sparkling. Leo’s heart began to pound. This was exactly how he’d imagined it, even down to the sun peeping through the clouds.
Elita threw her arms around his neck and he drew her close. Her hair smelled of horses and the herbal shampoo that Eva-Britt and Lola made themselves. Leo closed his eyes, determined to hold this moment in his memory forever.
‘My turn,’ Eva-Britt said, and Elita stepped aside. ‘Let me look at you! You’ve certainly grown – the food must be good up there in Norrland.’
Leo nodded; he still couldn’t take his eyes off Elita.
‘And you’ve got medals!’ His mother touched the row of small gold-coloured merit awards on his breast. ‘But your hair . . .’
She reached up as if she were about to remove his beret; he turned his head away and laughed.
‘Everyone has a buzz cut, Mum. It’s the most practical solution – we’re on our bellies in the mud nearly every week.’
‘I think it looks good,’ Elita said.
Her words made Leo’s heart beat even faster. He looked her up and down.
‘Have you been riding Bill? You wrote that he was almost broken in.’
Elita nodded. ‘They’re coming to pick him up after the weekend, but there’ll be time for you to try him out. Dad’s not around this evening.’
‘What does ND stand for?’ Lola pointed to the badge on his beret. Her expression was distant, and Leo guessed that she was having one of her ‘absent days’ as his mother called them – days when a part of her was somewhere else.
‘Norrland Dragoons,’ he said proudly. ‘You’re given the beret when you’ve completed the winter training and the commando assessment.’
Lola didn’t appear to have heard him; she just carried on staring at his beret.
Elita took his hand, wove her fingers through his. Her skin was warm, almost burning him.
‘Let’s go in. Eva-Britt and I have baked you a cake.’
They set off up the steps, but paused by the door. Lola was still in the yard, staring up at Leo. She raised her chin as if she could hear sounds that were inaudible to everyone else.
‘Many things are on the move tonight,’ she said loudly. ‘Nature is hungry, the Green Man is riding through the forests, and the old must be replaced by the new.’
‘What did you say, sweetheart?’ Eva-Britt went back down the steps and gently took Lola by the arm. ‘Come along – let’s go inside and celebrate Leo’s homecoming.’
16
‘I’ve told you about David’s father, haven’t I? Bertil has dementia, but both David and Ingrid are determined to pretend that everything is OK. They cling to Bertil’s lucid moments, blame tiredness, a cold, the wrong medication for any aberrations. Support each other in their denial while Bertil slowly disappears into his own mind. Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. Some things are just so sad. Losing the person you love is bad enough, but to do it slowly, until all that remains is an empty shell, is almost unbearable.’
They have dinner with David’s parents. The house, which is Ingrid’s childhood home, is in the middle of Tornaby, and is one of the oldest and largest in the village. Enormous garage, guest accommodation at one end of the perfectly manicured garden.
To the right of the front door hangs something that Thea recognises: a Green Man figure. This one is made of pale green hawthorn twigs instead of brambles.
‘Welcome! I was just telling Bertil how well the TV recording went.’ Ingrid hugs her with unexpected warmth. ‘You saved the day,’ she whispers in Thea’s ear. ‘But don’t tell David I said so!’
After pre-dinner drinks David and his mother disappear into the kitchen, leaving Thea in the library with Bertil. She doesn’t really mind. They’ve met on only a handful of occasions, but she’s fond of him.
David bears a close resemblance to his father. The same square face and well-defined nose, the same neatly trimmed beard, although Bertil’s is white and rather more sparse.
The library is spacious, with fitted shelves. One wall is covered with framed photographs, awards, pennants – so many that the wallpaper is barely visible. Most of the photographs feature Bertil with politicians, businessmen and women, and sports stars. Her father-in-law is always equally smart; he appears only occasionally without a jacket or blazer. In fact, Thea has never seen Bertil in anything other than a shirt and tie. Tonight is no exception, although he has replaced his blazer with a cardigan.
In one of the photographs ten-year-old David is standing with Ingrid outside a wintry Stockholm City Hall along with a young man in a peaked cap and an old-fashioned police uniform. This must be Ingrid’s younger brother Arne, probably on the day he qualified as a police officer. The uniform and the cap are a little too big, and his moustache seems out of place on his childish face.
Christmas 1985, it says at the bottom. Only four months before Elita Svart’s death.
Thea had intended to ask David about the spring sacrifice in the car on the way over, but he was on the phone all the time, so she didn’t get the chance.
In another photograph David must be about thirty. He’s wearing his chef’s whites, standing in the doorway of his first restaurant with his arm around his mother. He looks happy – so does Ingrid. She is looking at her son with such pride.