She spent Sunday lying in a daze.
By Monday, she was able to move, keep down a little water. Blink at the sun outside.
By Tuesday, she was almost back to being an adult. Her stomach ached, but it was calmer now. She couldn’t eat anything, but at least she managed to get out of bed.
Toast. She ought to have some toast, but she just didn’t want any. Paulina was fine and had called in with several bottles of mineral water; Lisa drank some, then waited. Her stomach gurgled rather worryingly, but nothing came back up. She drank a little more and gazed out of the window.
It was still summer out there.
She had cancelled only one gig at the May Lai Bar. Nobody at the hotel seemed to care, because the whole complex had been affected by the same sickness bug.
And now it was over. Although that wasn’t quite true, because the news had spread.
The May Lai Bar was virtually empty that night. Lisa thought the whole resort felt a bit like a ghost town as she drove down to the hotel. The campsite was just a huge field, with the odd tent and caravan here and there; the long rows of campers had gone. Apparently, lots of people had taken one look at the headline in the local paper — RESORT STRICKEN BY GASTROENTERITIS — and had quickly packed up and gone home. Or moved to other large campsites on the island, where there were no bugs in the water.
But how could one complex be affected, and not the rest?
Anyhow, the show at the Ölandic must go on, so Lady Summertime stepped into her booth at nine o’clock. She felt like a little bird back in her cage as she put on the first record and picked up the microphone. ‘Good evening, everybody! Lady Summertime is here with all your favourites. Let’s go — it’s the Bee Gees with “You Should Be Dancing”!’
Her voice echoed through the club as if it were an empty waiting room; she sounded weary and mechanical, and nobody took any notice of the Bee Gees. A few shadowy figures were sitting at the bar with tall glasses, but there was nobody on the dance floor. And it stayed that way. Nobody wanted to move tonight.
Lady Summertime did her job, anyway.
At twenty past eleven, she glanced up from her decks and saw a mobile phone lying next to an empty glass on one of the high oak tables along the right-hand wall, which cheered her up no end. There was also a pair of black sunglasses; Summertime looked around, but there was no sign of the owner. Turning back to the decks, she did a smooth segue from Fleetwood Mac to Elton John while covertly keeping an eye on the table. The phone was still there, partly hidden behind the glass. It was small and black, probably one of the latest Ericsson models. The table was triangular, fixed to the wall at chest height. She wouldn’t have to bend down to pick up the phone, she could just reach out and...
Who’d left it behind? A rich guy? A poor girl? She hadn’t noticed who had been standing at that particular table, which was unprofessional.
Her shift was almost over. She put on ‘Sweet Dreams’ by Eurythmics, still watching the table. It was as if she had developed tunnel vision; Summertime could see nothing but the mobile, apart from the odd quick glance at the guests dotted around the room.
No one appeared to be looking at her.
When there were two minutes left of the track, she switched on all the flashing white spotlights, dimming the wall lights, and sent a curtain of smoke swirling across the dance floor. Then she quickly slipped out of the booth, as if she were going to the loo.
But instead she moved into the room.
No one by the door, no security guards. The customers at the bar were chatting to each other, apart from one, who was talking to Morten, the Danish bartender. And there was still no sign of anyone near the mobile. Summertime was only two metres away from it now. Three short steps through the white smoke. Then two more, and she was standing by the wall. She turned in a single elegant movement, hiding the table from view while at the same time sweeping her hand across and picking up the phone. A second later, it was safe in the pocket of her denim shorts.
She looked around and saw that one of the doormen had come into the club. It was... what was the guy’s name? Lisa couldn’t remember, and he was too far away for her to be able to read his badge. He wasn’t looking in her direction at the moment, but what about a few seconds earlier?
If that were the case, surely he would have come over to her by now?
The phone felt heavy in her pocket, but she couldn’t dump it now. She had to get back to the booth.
She put on her headphones. ‘Sweet Dreams’ was almost over, and she couldn’t allow a single second of silence. She mixed to Lou Reed’s ‘Perfect Day’, a quieter track to slow things down. A few couples actually got up to dance; perhaps someone would find the love of their life tonight.
Halfway through ‘Perfect Day’ a skinny girl in a black dress came in and went straight over to the table by the wall. The table where the mobile had been.
Summertime saw her, but did nothing. The girl picked up the glass, looked at the table, bent down and peered at the floor, gazed around the club.
Summertime pretended she hadn’t noticed her; she adjusted her headphones and bent over the decks.
The girl went over to the bar and spoke to Morten. He shook his head but reached under the counter for his own mobile. The girl nodded and took it.
Summertime glanced over at the door. The security guard was still there, but she was hidden by the door of the booth, so she took the stolen phone out of her pocket, slowly, slowly. She held it lightly between the fingers of one hand and with the other she picked up a couple of LPs and put them in the case under the table. At the same time, she reached out and slipped the phone through the gap at the bottom of the pane of glass at the front of the booth.
Just before it disappeared from view, it started flashing and vibrating. The girl had used Morten’s phone to call her own number, of course. She was gazing around the room, in spite of the fact that the music was drowning out the ringtone.
Summertime put on another slow number, ‘Don’t Give Up’, even though her shift was now over. She was nervous, she wanted to look busy.
The mobile was flashing away. After a minute or so, a couple swaying around the dance floor just a couple of metres away noticed it. The man bent down, picked it up and answered, sticking his finger in his ear so that he could hear. He looked over at the bar, where the girl was waving her hand. He went over to her and Lisa watched the end of the pantomime:
Thank you so much, where did you find it?
On the dance floor.
Thanks again, I looked everywhere...
The phone had been found, the drama was over. And so was Lisa’s shift. The last notes died away and she grabbed the microphone.
‘That was Peter Gabriel and Kate Bush with “Don’t Give Up”. Never give up, people! Lady Summertime isn’t giving up either; I’m just taking a little break until midnight, making way for our live band, The Fun Boys, who will be playing out on the terrace...’
She took off the headphones. She would go up to the hotel kitchen for something to eat before she started again in half an hour.
On her way out, she nodded to the tall security guard and gave him a relaxed smile. His name was Emanuel, according to his badge. He looked down at her and nodded back, but Lisa couldn’t read his expression.
Gerlof
There was a dull, rumbling noise outside Gerlof’s garden, silencing the insects and muffling the birdsong. He turned his head and could just make out a big, black shadow behind the trees on the village road.