Kerstin Miller is waiting for them outside the lodge, with Jan-Olof by her side. He’s smartened himself up; he’s wearing a shirt and jacket, although the sleeves are too long.
David, Sebastian and Nettan jump out. They greet Kerstin warmly, Jan-Olof slightly less warmly. Thea sees David shake his head discreetly at Sebastian and Nettan, as if to indicate that he didn’t know Jan-Olof was going to be there. They’re all trying to hide it, but there’s definitely a problem between the three of them and Jan-Olof. Could it be connected to Elita Svart? Thea would like to think so, but maybe there’s another explanation.
Kerstin offers freshly baked buns, coffee and her homemade tea. She takes out the scrapbook and goes through old memories, just like the last time Thea was here.
David has brought dessert wine and cognac; he tops up everyone’s glasses as soon as they’re empty. He’s so taken up with playing the role of the host that he barely exchanges more than a few words with Thea. She, however, feels as if she’s observing things from a distance. Neither David nor any of the others has provided a clue as to what the problem is with Jan-Olof; in fact, they are almost exaggeratedly polite to him.
Thea slips away to the bathroom. The medicine cabinet door has been left ajar, and she glimpses a bottle of pills. She opens the door a little wider, sees that they are strong sleeping tablets prescribed by Dr Andersson. She feels guilty for prying into Kerstin’s private life, but can’t help wondering why the teacher has difficulty sleeping. She closes the cabinet and sits down on the toilet seat, resting her chin in her hands.
There is definitely something strange about the way David and his friends are behaving, as if it’s all play-acting, where those involved pretend to be delighted to see one another even though they’re not. She can’t help thinking back to the Polaroid. David, Nettan, Sebastian and Jan-Olof standing around Elita Svart. Those four were the last to see Elita alive, apart from her killer.
What does that do to a twelve-year-old? What effect does it have on the rest of their lives?
David, Nettan and Sebastian were all keen to get away from here as soon as possible, returning only when they were forced to do so. Jan-Olof stayed. But now they’re here, all together. Under duress.
She has no problem putting herself in that situation. She still hasn’t abandoned the idea of packing a bag and simply leaving.
When she returns to the kitchen the others have moved into the living room, but the yearbooks are still on the table. She picks out the one from ’85/’86 and finds the right year group. Elita Svart is in class 9B, sitting right in the middle and gazing confidently into the camera, as if she already knows that she will be the obvious focus for the photographer. The picture must have been taken during the autumn of ’85 – just six months before Walpurgis Night.
‘Thea – we haven’t had time to chat.’
Kerstin glances at the photo and her smile falters. Thea feels caught out, but decides to ask the question that’s been on her mind.
‘Did you know the Svart family? You were practically neighbours, after all.’
‘I knew Eva-Britt and Lola. Good people, but a little . . . different. They came here occasionally. I tutored Lola in English one summer, and Eva-Britt used to drive her over. Lola said she wanted to travel, see the world, but I think that was just a pipe dream.’
‘And Lasse?’
Kerstin’s upper lip curls involuntarily. ‘Lass and I had no direct contact.’
Thea looks at the photo again. ‘Did Elita have a boyfriend?’
Kerstin looks surprised. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘She’s a pretty girl, with real magnetism. The boys must have been crazy about her.’
Kerstin stares at Thea for a few seconds.
‘Well, yes, I suppose most of the boys in school were after her, but I don’t think she was interested. That’s usually the case.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Girls of that age tend to prefer older boys. Or men, in fact.’ Kerstin closes the yearbook firmly and places it at the bottom of a pile. ‘Wasn’t it like that for you, Thea?’
‘David’s three years younger than me . . .’
‘I know that, but what about your first love? I’m sure he was older.’
Thea doesn’t reply. Jocke’s face flickers through her mind. Then her own. She is nineteen years old, standing in the toilet on a train. In her hand is a battered suitcase, in her pocket a bank book that still smells new.
She has to make a decision. And soon.
52
After coffee at the hunting lodge, David, Nettan and Sebastian return to the castle, while Thea hurries home to the coach house. She takes her suitcase out of the wardrobe and places it on the bed, then sits down and stares at it.
She promised herself that she would support David, help him in the same way as he’d helped her. But maybe it would be better if she left, before something comes out that could damage the restaurant project? Or is she trying to justify leaving him in the lurch? Avoiding a confrontation with her father?
Her thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the front door.
It’s Hubert Gordon. The little man is in a tweed suit beneath his oilskin coat; he is also wearing his usual flat cap, and wellingtons.
‘I wondered if you and Emee would like to come for a walk?’
She’s about to say no, but Emee has already pushed past her and is winding herself around Hubert’s legs, delighted at the prospect of an outing.
Thea reluctantly pulls on her jacket. They walk for a while in silence.
‘Have you read any more of the poetry book?’ Hubert asks.
‘A little – but there’s been a lot going on.’
‘Have you worked out which is my favourite poem?’
‘No!’ She can hear how snappy she sounds. Hubert hears it too.
‘Is everything all right, Thea?’
‘Have you . . .’ She stops dead. ‘Have you ever felt as if you might be exposed at any moment? As if the people around you are about to find out that you’re actually a sham? That you’re a completely different person from the one you’re pretending to be?’
He laughs, much to her surprise.
‘Of course. I think that’s one of my most common nightmares. That and standing naked in the middle of the village square.’
In spite of the situation, Thea can’t help smiling.
His tone grows more serious. ‘We all have our secrets, things we absolutely don’t want to come out. Although sometimes you have to wonder . . .’
He pauses.
‘Wonder what?’
‘Whether it would really be so terrible if those secrets were revealed. Then at least we would have to carry them alone. Loneliness is fucking worse than almost anything.’
He falls silent, and they continue their walk.
The f-word surprises her. Hubert doesn’t usually swear. Although he has a point. She’s kept her family a secret for almost three decades – or rather kept herself a secret, constantly worried that they might catch up with her, expose her, turn her back into what she once was.
But she’s no longer a frightened nineteen-year-old, Daddy’s little girl who suddenly realises that the world he’s dragged her into contains nothing but crap and stagnant water. Who flees in the middle of the night with nothing but a battered suitcase, a bank book and a train ticket.
She’s a grown woman who has worked in war zones, been bombed and shot at. Lost everything she cared about.
Hubert is right. What is she so afraid of?
‘Thank you, Hubert,’ she says.
‘For what?’ He gives that wry smile she likes so much.
‘For listening.’
53