‘I’ve made up my mind, Margaux. I’m tired of running away, tired of hiding. It’s high time I did what you would have done. High time to take the bull by the horns.
‘I’d be lying if I said the prospect doesn’t scare me. Think of me – promise!’
It’s just after five in the morning when she coaxes Emee into the car. She’s left a note for David, telling him she’s meeting an old friend from Doctors Without Borders who’s unexpectedly turned up. He probably won’t be too bothered; he’s completely obsessed with the restaurant, Sebastian, Nettan, and planning for the preview dinner.
It’s still dark, and she drives carefully. A couple of times her headlights are reflected in eyes among the trees – deer, or maybe wild boar. She follows the narrow, winding tracks until she reaches the main road and heads north.
Just after eight o’clock she stops, lets Emee out to stretch her legs, and has breakfast at a café. She smokes a cigarette and texts David to check that everything is OK. Judging by his response, he hasn’t seen through her lie.
She tries to clear her head during the rest of the journey, but it’s impossible. All the different strands come together to form a narrative that plays over and over again as the road signs flash by.
Dad and Ronny, Elita, Lasse and Leo.
David, Nettan, Sebastian and Jan-Olof.
Lola Svart and Leo’s mother, Eva-Britt.
Her own mother. Jocke.
The child she lost.
The child Elita was carrying.
And finally, the person who never really leaves her thoughts.
Margaux. Always Margaux.
The drive takes just over five hours, as the GPS promised, and it is almost half past ten when she reaches her home village.
The contrast with Tornaby’s neat and tidy appearance is striking. The houses are dotted around in a random fashion; some are so close to the road that the car’s wing mirrors almost scrape against them, while others are much further back. There are FOR SALE signs everywhere; some look pretty old. The coniferous forest is encroaching from all directions, swallowing up the light and spreading its shadow.
She passes her old school. It’s closed down, and seems to be the venue for a flea market on Saturdays and Sundays. The bus shelter opposite has been vandalised.
The ICA mini-market where Ronny used to pinch beer is also gone. All that remains of the village’s shops is a combined petrol station and grocery store. She decides to stop.
PAY FIRST, THEN FILL UP, a cardboard notice above the pump instructs her.
Thea goes inside. A woman in her twenties with long multicoloured nails is standing behind the counter. She’s on the phone.
‘Tell him to go to hell!’ Thea hears her say. ‘He can take his fucking PlayStation and go home to his mummy if it doesn’t suit him. Why should you pay all the bills while he sits at home smoking and wanking while he watches Emmerdale?’
Thea turns away, wanders around the shop until the conversation is over. She picks up an energy drink and a packet of cigarettes.
‘Sorry,’ the young woman mutters as Thea pays. ‘My sister. Her boyfriend is a total fucking loser. Did you want petrol as well?’
Thea nods. The woman is looking closely at her.
‘You’re not from round here, are you?’
‘No.’
‘Lucky you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s just . . .’ The question seems to have embarrassed the assistant. ‘This is such a fucking hole. I can’t wait to get out of here.’
‘I understand.’ Thea takes her purchases. ‘By the way, do you know who Ronny Boman is?’
‘Who the fuck doesn’t?’
‘Does he still live by the old mine?’
She hopes the answer will be no. The woman is looking at her differently now, as if she’s wondering how someone like Thea knows Ronny Boman.
‘He does.’
‘OK, thanks.’
Thea fills up the car, then goes back inside to collect her card. The woman is on the phone again. She barely looks at Thea as she hands over the card, and doesn’t return her goodbye.
It starts to rain just before she turns onto the dirt road. She doesn’t really recognise the place, which is hardly surprising. It’s many years since she walked along here for the last time, heading for the bus stop. Heading out of here.
The fir trees have taken over; everything is much gloomier than she remembers. The persistent drizzle doesn’t help.
The road slopes gradually downhill and stops after a kilometre or so at a large gravelled area. To the left, surrounded by a rusty wire fence, are a couple of abandoned industrial units that once belonged to the old mine. To the right several brick buildings that once housed offices and accommodation for the workers. Her father owns the lot. He bought them when the mine went bust years and years ago. He probably paid cash.
The collection of buildings is in a dip, with forest all around. The water finds its way down the slope, gathering at the bottom and forming huge brown pools. Sometimes, when it rains a lot, it’s like living by a lake. Or a bog.
Ronny lives in the first house. Two old bangers are parked on the drive; Thea sees a collapsible pool on the overgrown lawn, with a trampoline leaning drunkenly to the side a little further away.
Thea parks behind the other cars, rubs her hands on her jeans to wipe away the sweat. She is greeted by the sound of barking as she approaches the front door. She can hear Emee barking back through the cracked window of her car.
The bell isn’t working, so she knocks instead. Her heart is pounding so hard she can almost feel it through her shirt.
The door is opened by a plump woman of her own age, in a vest top and tracksuit bottoms. Her arms and shoulders are covered in tattoos, and she looks vaguely familiar.
‘Hi – is Ronny home?’
The woman looks her up and down. ‘And who are you?’
Thea takes a deep breath. ‘His sister.’
The woman is clearly taken aback. ‘Jenny?’
Thea nods reluctantly.
‘What the fuck . . . Don’t you remember me? Sofie Nilsson. We used to go into town to nick make-up together.’
Thea forces a smile. ‘Of course.’
‘I didn’t recognise you, Jenny. Look how smart you are! Don’t just stand there, come on in. Ronny!’ Sofie yells over her shoulder.
The house smells of cigarette smoke and fried food. A row of children’s shoes are lined up – surprisingly neatly – inside the door.
‘Ronny!’
‘What?’
Ronny is wearing a lumberjack shirt and scruffy jeans. He hasn’t really changed much, apart from being heavier and greyer. The muscular arms, the sharp nose and the dark eyes remind her of Dad. The scar down one cheek is old, but it’s new to Thea. Combined with the beard, it makes him look like a hard man.
‘Hi!’ she says, managing to keep her voice steady.
Her big brother stares at her for a few seconds, then breaks into a wolfish grin.
‘Well, if it isn’t my missing little sister. How nice to see that you’re still alive.’
They sit down on the glassed-in veranda. Sofie sets out a bottle of Coke and two plastic glasses, then sensitively withdraws into the house.
‘So you’ve got kids,’ Thea says.
‘That’s right – two with Sofie, and one with Lollo. You remember her? Jocke’s sister?’
‘Of course. I read that he’d died.’
She realises that she’s giving herself away, letting him know that she’s googled them from time to time. However, Ronny doesn’t comment. He merely nods, then takes out tobacco and cigarette papers, starts to roll his own.
‘Thea Lind. Where did you get that name from?’