Rites of Spring

by Anders de la Motte

  ‘So what do you think about this circus? Can you cope?’

  ‘Of course. This is what David has wanted for a long time.’

  Nettan shakes her head slowly.

  ‘David had no choice – we both know that. All this is down to Aunt Ingrid. She organised the whole thing – the castle, David, me and Sebastian. Brought the three of us together again after almost thirty years.’

  Something in Nettan’s tone irritates Thea. Gives her a reason to express her frustration.

  ‘So why did you say yes, if you didn’t want to be involved?’

  Nettan takes another drag. Exhales and gazes at Thea with a wry smile.

  ‘Because no one says no to Aunt Ingrid. I thought you’d have realised that by now.’

  They end the tour upstairs as David shows off the recent renovations.

  ‘This used to be the old schoolroom,’ he says as they reach the bridal suite. It smells of paint and new furniture. The loft hatch is closed, barely visible against the freshly painted panel. Thea tries to picture Hubert in here, with only his governess for company.

  A lonely little boy with no friends.

  The thought makes her feel sad.

  *

  They have a light lunch in the breakfast room in the east wing. Their glasses are refilled, first with white wine, then red. Sebastian chats to David’s parents, but Nettan is preoccupied with her phone and seems bored. David notices.

  ‘We’re going to have coffee somewhere else,’ he announces. ‘I’ve organised a little surprise.’

  He points to the courtyard where the local taxi firm’s minibus has just pulled up. Everyone gets to their feet, except for Ingrid and Bertil.

  ‘Aren’t you coming?’ Thea asks.

  ‘No, Bertil’s tired,’ her mother-in-law replies. ‘You young people go and enjoy yourselves without us.’

  Thea is the last to board the minibus. The atmosphere is lighter now. Sebastian and David are telling Sebastian’s girlfriend a story; apparently her name is Bianca. Nettan is still busy with her phone.

  As soon as they turn off the road into the forest, Thea realises where they’re going: to the hunting lodge and Kerstin Miller.

  Maybe it’s her imagination, but the atmosphere seems to change again as they travel across the marsh; it’s more relaxed, yet at the same time highly charged. They follow the winding track. The greenery has grown thicker in just a few days, and the canal is barely visible in the dip below them.

  None of the others seem bothered by their surroundings. David and Sebastian talk louder and louder, and now Nettan is involved in the story too. They talk over one another, until the volume is so overwhelming that Bianca starts to glance enquiringly at Thea.

  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

  A

  fter 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 wellingto
ns.

  ‘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

  ‘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!’

  I

  t’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 bark
ing 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.