‘I’m not on Facebook.’
‘Oh?’ Dr Andersson raises her eyebrows, but doesn’t push it. She leads Thea to a side door. ‘You and David don’t have children?’
Thea shakes her head. ‘No. We’re childless.’
Dr Andersson looks embarrassed, as if the word makes her uncomfortable. A simple, if not very nice, trick that Thea learned from Margaux. The truth is that she and David have always avoided the subject, maybe because neither wants to hear the other’s excuses. And now they’re too old anyway.
*
The surgery is bigger than Thea had expected – twenty-five square metres, with space for an examination couch, several lockable cupboards and a washbasin. The walls are adorned with old school posters showing various parts of the human anatomy. The room smells of soap, the curtains look new and there is a large bouquet of flowers in a vase on the desk.
Dr Lind – a warm welcome from Tornaby parish council, says the card, in David’s mother’s slightly old-fashioned handwriting.
‘As you can see, they’re very pleased to have you here. I expect they’re fed up of me after all these years.’
The comment is meant as a joke, but once again there is that hint of sorrow in the doctor’s voice, suggesting that she doesn’t find it funny at all. The big woman looks at her tiny watch, then rubs her hands together.
‘Twenty minutes before we open. How about a cup of coffee and a slice of homemade cake, Thea? The girls in the café look after us very well. It’s sponge cake on Tuesdays.’
*
When they return to the surgery, Dr Andersson shows Thea how to log into the database on her laptop, how to upload her timetable, and how to update medical notes. The patients, who are obediently waiting on the chairs in the corridor outside, present the expected challenges.
Thea vaccinates two small children, dresses a wound and diagnoses one case of inflammation of the ear. Dr Andersson lets her do her job, looking perfectly relaxed as she sits in the corner with her coffee.
Most of the patients are young mothers or pensioners. They all welcome her in a way that suggests she’s already been a topic of conversation in the village for some time. The mothers want to know more about David, the restaurant and the opening night. The pensioners prefer to discuss their aches and pains, but almost all of them ask how her father-in-law is, and send their best wishes to both Bertil and Ingrid.
They all open up to her, which seems to impress Dr Andersson. Thea herself isn’t at all surprised. People have always confided in her, ever since she was a child. Her older brother, her father, eventually her fellow students, her colleagues, her patients. All she needs to do is start things off with a little small talk, then sit quietly and listen.
‘Everyone is searching for someone who will listen to them,’ Margaux used to say. ‘Someone who understands and doesn’t judge. And you’re good at it, ma chère. So good that even mussels open up to you. That’s why you need to devote yourself to the living, not the dead. But be careful. With great talent comes great responsibility.’
Thea thinks about the mysterious photograph yet again. What is the story hiding behind it? And who can tell her that story?
9
Walpurgis Night 1986
‘Your mother is so beautiful, Elita.’ I’ve heard that ever since I was a child. Lola is beautiful, but also delicate. She believes in fairies and the creatures of the forest. Spends most of her time talking to her little porcelain figurines.
Father broke one of them once, a white baby rabbit she’d bought at a flea market. Eva-Britt spent hours at the kitchen table with toothpicks and glue until every single fragment was in the right place, and my mother stopped crying. Lola is just like that rabbit – whole on the outside, but still broken. Eva-Britt is the glue. It’s thanks to her that everything sticks together.
A
rne arrived at Svartgården just before five. He’d driven carefully, trying to avoid the biggest muddy puddles. He should have carried on to Ljungslöv. Put the vehicle away, hung the keys on the hook behind the desk. But he wanted Elita to see him in the police car. Plus he had important news.
He parked in the middle of the yard, got out and adjusted his belt, handcuffs, radio, and white gun holster. Pulled his peaked cap well down over his forehead.
A shower of dogs came rushing at him, bad-tempered little terriers that always barked at him and nipped at his heels. Arne kicked out at the first one, then stared out the others until they slunk away, tails between their legs. He hadn’t been here for a couple of years at least, and the place looked worse than he remembered. Slates were missing from several roofs, and the top of the barn was covered with a tarpaulin. There was a general smell of dampness and decay that Arne had barely registered before, but today it made him wrinkle his nose.
A homemade sign stood beside the steps leading up to the house; it wasn’t even straight.
LASSE SVART FARRIER
Underneath, in different handwriting:
EVA-BRITT RASMUSSEN AND LOLA SVART
HOMEOPATHIC MEDICINES, EQUINE MASSAGE
The front door opened and Eva-Britt appeared, wiping her hands on a dirty rag. She stared at the police car, then at Arne.
Eva-Britt and Ingrid were about the same age, with the same hard expression, the same sharp tongue. But Eva-Britt looked at least ten years older than Ingrid. Her hair was already turning grey, her mouth permanently locked in a bitter grimace.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ she muttered.
Arne glared at her as he mounted the steps. ‘Aren’t you going to offer me a coffee?’
Normally Eva-Britt would have stood her ground in the doorway, blocked his path and told him to go to hell, but today she stepped aside. She seemed to realise that he was no longer Downhill Arne, Lasse’s little errand boy, but a person to be respected.
The kitchen was a mess, as usual. Bottles, cups, containers, little bowls everywhere, and there was an unpleasant, acrid smell.
Elita’s mother Lola was heating some concoction on the stove. She didn’t respond to Arne’s greeting. Lola had always been beautiful: almond-shaped eyes, long dark hair, white alabaster skin. Once upon a time Arne had only dared to gaze at her in secret, but on closer inspection he could see that she was no longer quite as lovely as he recalled. Or maybe the past few years had taken their toll. Her hands were callused, her back was bent, and her expression was guarded. For a moment Arne was filled with an unexpected feeling of tenderness.
‘So what are you two girls up to?’ he asked in his smoothest voice.
Lola quickly looked away, which bothered him. He hadn’t meant to scare her.
‘Nothing,’ Eva-Britt snapped, planting herself in front of him with her arms folded, as if she regained something of her old, vicious self. ‘And you’ve got no right to come marching in here, Arne.’
The way she said his name had always annoyed him. She kind of spat it out, as if the letters had a nasty taste.
‘No right?’ He walked around Eva-Britt to the kitchen table, picked up one of the plastic containers and sniffed the contents. Acted as if he hadn’t seen similar containers hundreds of times before. ‘This smells like moonshine. As you know, it’s illegal to produce or sell alcohol at home. You could end up in jail . . .’
Eva-Britt shrank a little. ‘Lasse’s down in the paddock,’ she said, slightly too loudly.
‘And?’
‘Elita’s there too.’
Arne slowly replaced the stopper and put down the container. Nodded as reassuringly as he could to Lola, then turned and left the kitchen.
10
‘Everyone here is really friendly. Almost unpleasantly friendly, if you know what I mean – a bit like the neighbours at the beginning of Rosemary’s Baby. You’re laughing now, aren’t you? Remembering how I hated all those old horror films you made me watch. We used to sit on your bed with the laptop between us, with me trying to hide how scared I was. I miss those times, Margaux. I miss them so much.’
T<
br />
hea and Dr Andersson get into the Toyota. They’re going to visit a patient on the way home. Apparently Kerstin Miller used to be David’s teacher. She lives in the hunting lodge, deep in the forest. Thea tries to remember if David has ever mentioned her, but the name doesn’t ring any bells.
‘When you’re doing home visits, it’s important to press the business journey button on the sat-nav so that it matches your travel log. The foundation likes to keep an eye on its outgoings.’ She groans at the effort involved in turning her upper body as she reverses away from the centre. ‘I thought this morning went very well. I was afraid that people might be a little shy, especially with someone from Uppland, but they talked to you as if they’d known you for years. I think you’re going to fit in very well, Thea.’ She nods with satisfaction at her verdict. ‘You haven’t worked as a GP before, have you?’
‘No. I was a pathologist for a few years.’
‘What made you want to change?’
Thea shrugs. ‘I became good friends with a woman I met at a conference, and she got me into Doctors Without Borders. She convinced me I could do more good among the living.’
She stops; she has no desire to say any more about Margaux.
Dr Andersson seems satisfied with her answer. She remains silent for all of five seconds before changing the subject.
‘Ingrid and I went to school together – maybe she already told you that?’
Thea shakes her head.
‘I’ve known her and Bertil ever since we were little. Ingrid was the class organiser even back then. Bertil was a couple of years above us. He was a good footballer. And he was very handsome.’ She laughs. ‘Well, handsome for Tornaby! He looked a bit like Elvis, with eyes like velvet and wavy hair. A lot of the girls were after Bertil – much prettier girls than Ingrid, but she decided she wanted him, and all the rest just had to step aside. Even Bertil didn’t have much say in the matter.’ The doctor laughs again. ‘They were made for each other, those two. They were both strong-willed and ambitious, both with a fierce sense of responsibility. Ingrid’s father owned the general store and chaired the sports association, while Bertil’s father ran the bank and was a local councillor. The cream of the village, if you know what I mean. Ingrid was twenty-one when they got married, and David came along the following year.’
The doctor lowers her voice.
‘It could have gone very badly. Ingrid haemorrhaged – she almost died.’
‘Oh goodness – I didn’t know that.’
‘Yes, it was a close thing. Bertil sat by her side at the hospital, refused to move until she was out of danger.’
‘Is that why David’s an only child?’
The doctor nods sadly. ‘They had to perform a hysterectomy, which was very sad, because I know she’d always wanted a big family. Life hasn’t been easy for Ingrid.’
She turns to Thea with a wry smile, pauses briefly as if to let her into the conversation.
‘Anyway,’ she continues when the silence has gone on for a little too long, ‘Ingrid’s parents died when her brother Arne was in his early teens, so she and Bertil more or less brought him up. Have you met Arne?’
‘Only in passing.’
The doctor tilts her head to one side as if she’s waiting for a continuation. She looks disappointed when Thea fails to oblige.
‘Arne’s a bit . . . different. He was married for a while, to a girl from Thailand that he brought over here with her little boy. It didn’t work out, and they went back home. He took it pretty hard.’
Dr Andersson seems to have exhausted the topic, or maybe she’s finally realised that Thea isn’t going to supply her with any tasty details about David’s family.
They take a different road out of the village, past the sports ground and the school. On the common people have started building a bonfire for Walpurgis Night, but there is something unusual about this one; it has been constructed around a pole with a crossbar at the top.
‘What’s that?’ Thea asks, pointing at the structure.
‘Sorry? Oh, that’s for the Green Man. It’s a local custom – some say it came over from England with the Gordon family, but others believe it’s much older. Maybe you’ve already heard of the Green Man?’ The doctor doesn’t wait for an answer. ‘Every year the residents of Tornaby burn an effigy of the Green Man on top of the bonfire. They make it together – a bit like the midsummer maypole. You’ll see for yourself; it’s put in place on the day before Walpurgis Night. It’s really an old fertility rite, just like the fire – burning the old and the dead to make room for the new and the living.’
‘There’s an oak tree in the forest with a Green Man’s face on it,’ Thea interjects. ‘People seem to have put small gifts into its mouth.’
The doctor nods. ‘There must be half a dozen similar trees in the area. The business of the gifts or offerings is left over from pagan times, as I’m sure you know. Quite a lot of people around here make their own small Green Man figure and hang it on the door just before Walpurgis Night, so that the Green Man and his huntsmen won’t frighten their pets.’
Thea is reminded of the figure made of twigs that she found in the tin.
‘Once upon a time,’ Dr Andersson continues, ‘long before my day, they used to hold a ceremony when the Green Man was burned. A beautiful young girl was selected, and they pretended to sacrifice her to the Green Man before the bonfire was lit. I think the tradition died out at the beginning of the last century, but there are some old photographs in the Folk Museum, if you’re interested?’
The doctor is interrupted by her mobile phone. She rummages around in her pockets and manages to find the hands-free headset.
‘Hi – no, you’re not disturbing me. We’re on our way to see Kerstin Miller.’
Thea thinks about the ancient custom, small figures made of twigs, and a young woman pretending to be a sacrifice to the Green Man. This all fits with the items she found inside the Gallows Oak – but who are the children and the girl in the photograph?
*
They follow the same winding road they took this morning, past the drive leading up to the castle, and after a kilometre or so they reach a deciduous wood.
Dr Andersson is still on the phone to someone who is presumably her husband. She turns left onto a dirt track. The wood closes in around them. Only a narrow strip of sky is visible through the leaf canopy. Thea can see from the sat-nav that they’re crossing the marsh on the eastern side of the moat.
Dr Andersson ends the call at last. ‘By the way, Thea, I almost forgot. The district medical board rang; apparently there’s a problem with your ID number.’
Thea inhales sharply, gives her standard response.
‘My personal details are protected,’ she says as casually as she can manage. Just like the word ‘childless’, it usually puts a stop to any further questions. Not this time.
‘Oh – why’s that?’
‘My previous post with Doctors Without Borders was sensitive. We travelled to war zones, worked with people who were being persecuted for various reasons.’
Her second line of defence; few people get past this. However, Dr Andersson isn’t giving up.
‘But I thought you left several years ago?’
‘One year ago.’
‘And your details still have to be protected? You must have experienced something really terrible.’
‘Mm.’ Thea looks away, tries to show with her entire body that she doesn’t wish to discuss the matter. Fortunately the doctor takes the hint.
‘Anyway, they couldn’t carry out a search using your ID number, so you’ll have to contact them. Technically you shouldn’t take up your post until they’ve done the relevant checks, so it’s probably best if you go down to the regional office in Lund and sort it out this week.’
‘No problem.’
Thea allows herself a smile, tries to look as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. Which it is – Dr Thea Lind’s record is as pure as the driven snow.
The road twists and turns even more, with the number of puddles increasing as the marshy forest takes over. The GPS shows that they have gone around the moat and begun to follow the canal to the hunting lodge. They drive over several culverts where the ditch or narrow, slow-flowing streams take the water from the marsh to the canal at the bottom of the dip to their left.
It’s hard to work out how wide the canal is. The banks are steep and the dip itself is full of undergrowth, reeds and fallen trees; it’s difficult to see the surface of the water, let alone the far side by the forest. Thea doesn’t believe that David’s proposed floating restaurant would be able to get through.
Almost without warning the forest opens up in front of an attractive Skåne longhouse, with a thatched roof, leaded windows and red-painted shutters. A short jetty extends into the green pool that forms the end of the canal, and behind the house, among the trees, Thea can see a stable and a barn.
A small van is parked in front of the house, and a stocky man in overalls and a cap is up a ladder painting the gable end of the stable. Just above him there is an enormous set of antlers. The sun breaks through the thin leaf canopy, the shadows play across the façade and for a brief moment Thea imagines she sees a huge, terrifying creature with long legs and horns. The vision is so real that her heart skips a beat, but then the man turns around and the spell is broken.
‘Hi Jan-Olof!’ Dr Andersson calls as she gets out of the car.
The man on the ladder merely raises his brush in greeting; Thea catches a glimpse of an unshaven, fleshy face.
‘Jan-Olof Leander,’ the doctor whispers. ‘Something of a handyman around here. His mother is one of our regular patients. She’s a little . . .’
Rites of Spring Page 5
