He watched with surprise as she set three cups and three plates on the kitchen table. The mystery was solved when Rita turned to the room next to the kitchen and called: ‘Johanna, time for coffee!’
‘Coming!’ they heard from the other room, and a second later a ravishing blonde with an enormous stomach came into the kitchen.
‘This is my daughter-in-law, Johanna,’ said Rita, gesturing at the very pregnant young woman. ‘And this is Bertil. He’s the owner of Ernst. I met him walking in the woods,’ she said with a giggle. Mellberg held out his hand to introduce himself, and the next instant almost fell to his knees in pain. He’d shaken hands with a few tough customers over the years but never experienced a handshake as powerful as Johanna’s.
‘That’s quite a grip you have,’ he squeaked as she released his hand.
Johanna regarded him with amusement before sitting down at the kitchen table. It took her a moment to find a position that allowed her to reach both her cup and the plate holding the buns, but then she launched into the refreshments with gusto.
‘When are you due?’ asked Mellberg politely.
‘Three weeks,’ she replied curtly, intent on finishing every last crumb. Then she reached for another bun.
‘I see that you’re eating for two,’ said Mellberg and laughed, but a surly look from Johanna silenced him. Not an easy chick to flirt with, he realized.
‘It’s my first grandchild,’ said Rita proudly, patting Johanna’s stomach tenderly. Johanna’s face lit up when she looked at her mother-in-law, and she placed her own hand on top of Rita’s belly.
‘Do you have any grandchildren?’ asked Rita after filling the coffee cups and joining them at the table.
‘No, not yet. But I do have a son. His name is Simon, and he’s seventeen,’ Mellberg said proudly. The son had arrived late in his life, and the news of his existence was not something that he’d received with much enthusiasm. But they’d gradually grown accustomed to each other, and now he was constantly amazed by his feelings for Simon. He was a good lad.
‘Seventeen? Well, there’s no rush, then. But let me tell you, grandchildren are life’s dessert.’ She patted Johanna’s stomach again.
They drank their coffee and chatted pleasantly while the dogs padded about the flat. Mellberg was fascinated by the pure and genuine joy he felt just sitting in Rita’s kitchen. After all the disappointments he’d suffered in recent years, he thought he’d never want to see another woman. Yet here he was. And he was enjoying himself.
‘So, what do you think?’ Rita was staring at him, and he realized that he’d missed the question that now demanded an answer.
‘Sorry?’
‘I was asking whether you’d like to come to my salsa class tonight. It’s for beginners. Not difficult at all. At eight o’clock.’
Mellberg looked at her in disbelief. Salsa class? Him? What a perfectly ridiculous idea. But then he happened to look a little too deep into Rita’s dark eyes, and to his astonishment he heard himself saying:
‘Salsa class? Eight o’clock? Great.’
Erica was already starting to regret her decision as she walked up the gravel path towards the house belonging to Erik and Axel. It no longer seemed such a good idea, and it was with much hesitation that she raised her fist to knock on the door. At first there was no response, and she was relieved to think that nobody was at home. Then she heard footsteps inside, and her heart sank as the door opened.
‘Yes?’ Axel Frankel looked worn out. He gave her a puzzled look.
‘Hi, I’m Erica Falck, and I…’ She paused, not knowing how to go on.
‘Elsy’s daughter.’ Axel’s weariness seemed to disappear as he studied her with an odd look in his eyes. ‘Yes, I can see it now. You’re very much alike, you and your mother.’
‘We are?’ said Erica, surprised. No one had ever said that before.
‘Yes, there’s something about your eyes. And your mouth.’ He tilted his head and seemed to take in every detail of her appearance. Then he stepped aside. ‘Come in.’
Erica went into the entry hall and stopped.
‘Come this way – we’ll go and sit on the veranda.’ He strode off, apparently expecting Erica to follow. She hung up her coat and hurried to catch up. He motioned her to a sofa in a beautiful glassed-in veranda similar to the one that she and Patrik had in their home.
‘Have a seat.’
They sat there for a while in silence. Realizing that he wasn’t going to offer her coffee, Erica cleared her throat and said: ‘Well, the reason that I…’ She started over. ‘The reason that I stopped by was that I left a medal with Erik.’ She could hear how brusque that sounded and added: ‘Oh, of course I wanted to offer you my condolences. I…’ Growing more uncomfortable by the mintue, she fidgeted as she searched for a way to continue.
Axel dismissed her obvious embarrassment with a wave of his hand and said in a friendly voice: ‘You were saying something about a medal.’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Erica, grateful that he’d taken charge. ‘This past spring I found a medal among my mother’s belongings. A Nazi medal. I didn’t know why she’d kept it and I was curious. And since I knew that your brother…’ She shrugged.
‘Was Erik able to help you?’
‘I don’t know. That is, we spoke on the phone in the spring, but then I got really busy and, well… I was planning to contact him again, but…’ Her words faded away.
‘And now you’re wondering if it’s still here?’
Erica nodded. ‘Yes. I’m sorry. It sounds so awful that I’m bothering you about it right now when… But my mother hadn’t kept very many things, so…’ She fidgeted again. She really should have phoned instead. This felt so cold-blooded.
‘I understand. I really do understand. Believe me, I of all people know how important it is to have ties to the past. Even if those ties are based on inanimate objects. And Erik would definitely have understood, considering all the things he collected, all the facts. For him they weren’t dead. They were alive, told a story, taught us something…’ He stared through the glass panes and for a moment seemed to be somewhere far away. Then he turned to Erica again.
‘Of course I’ll look for it. But first tell me a little more about your mother. What was she like? What was her life like?’
Erica found these questions rather strange. But seeing Axel’s pleading eyes she tried her best to answer.
‘Hmm… what was my mother like? To be honest, I don’t really know. Mamma was older when she had me and my sister, and… I don’t know… we never had a very good relationship with her. As for her life…’ Erica was confused by the question. Partly because she didn’t fully understand what he wanted to know, and partly because she didn’t know what to say.
‘I think she had rather a hard time of it. With life, I mean. She was always so reserved. To me, she never seemed… happy.’ Erica struggled to find a better way to explain, but that was as close to the truth as she could get. She couldn’t recall ever seeing her mother happy.
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Axel again gazed out of the window, as if he couldn’t bear to look at Erica. She wondered why he was asking her these questions.
‘What was my mother like when you knew her?’ Erica couldn’t disguise the eagerness in her voice.
Axel turned towards her, and his face seemed to soften. ‘It was actually my brother who was friends with Elsy, since they were about the same age. But they were part of a foursome: Erik, Elsy, Frans, and Britta. A real four-leaf clover.’ He laughed, a strangely joyless laugh.
‘Yes, she wrote about them in the diaries that I found. I know about your brother, but who were Frans and Britta?’
‘Diaries?’ Axel gave a start of surprise, but it came and went so quickly that a second later Erica thought she must have imagined his reaction. ‘Frans Ringholm and Britta…’ Axel snapped his fingers. ‘Now what was Britta’s last name?’ He closed his eyes as if searching the dark recesses of his memory but shook his head, unable to find the information. ‘Anyway, I think she still lives here in Fjällbacka. She has daughters – two or three, I’m not sure – but they’re quite a bit older than you. Hmm… it’s on the tip of my tongue, but… She probably changed her name when she got married. Wait, now I remember. Her last name was Johansson, and she married a man also named Johansson, so she didn’t have to change her name after all.’