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hea runs through the loft, keeping the beam of the torch on her phone in front of her. As soon as Hubert sees that the lights are on and that the table is beneath the hatch, he will know that someone has been there – but not who. Not yet, anyway.
She scrambles back down the ladder into the bridal suite. Jan-Olof is still snoring on the bed. Thea slips on her shoes, puts her phone in her bag and hurries into the bathroom. Her hair is standing on end, her hands and face are streaked with dirt, and the front of her dress is dusty from hauling herself back up into the loft.
She dampens a towel and rubs off the worst of it. Touches up her make-up and tidies her hair. She’s heading for the door when someone grabs her shoulder.
For a second she’s convinced that Hubert has somehow followed her, but it’s Jan-Olof. He stares at her. His eyes are bloodshot, his face puffy.
‘I know what you’re up to,’ he mutters. The alcohol fumes are so strong that she almost has to narrow her eyes.
‘You’re working for him, aren’t you? For Leo. You gave it away the other day. You know him – go on, admit it!’ He pushes his face closer to hers, his expression unpleasant to say the least.
‘I . . .’
Thea searches for a good answer. Jan-Olof seems to have lost his grip on reality. He pokes her in the chest with one finger, shoves her backwards until she bumps into the wall.
She’s getting scared now. The band is still playing downstairs, and she doubts if anyone would hear her if she screamed.
‘Tell Leo . . .’ he hisses. ‘Tell . . .’
His eyes dart from side to side, and suddenly fill with tears. His arms drop to his sides.
‘Tell him I’m sorry. Can you do that? Tell him Jan-Olof is sorry. Tell him I should have told the truth. Can you do that?’
The pleading tone takes her by surprise. He sounds like a little boy.
‘Of course.’ Thea edges towards the door, half-expecting his mood to change again, but Jan-Olof remains where he is, head down, arms dangling. He looks like a great big abandoned child.
She pushes down the door handle and slips out.
*
When she reaches the ground floor the music has stopped and the guests are moving into the hallway. She sees Per and goes over to him.
‘Thea – there you are. What’s this?’
He reaches out, touches her cheek and then her hair. Holds up a dust bunny between his thumb and forefinger.
She thinks fast.
‘I’ve been helping David bring up some more wine from the cellar.’
He nods, seems to accept her explanation.
All around them people are putting on their outdoor clothes and going out onto the wide area at the top of the stone steps. Per offers Thea her coat. She doesn’t ask what’s going on, but simply pretends she’s fully up to speed as they follow the other guests. When she sees David talking to Little Stefan and the other man who built the bonfire, she no longer needs to wonder. Little Stefan hands a burning torch to David.
A group of around twenty people, presumably from the village, have gathered on the far side of the courtyard.
The waiting staff circulate with glasses of champagne on silver trays. Thea takes one, shares a toast with Per and realises at the same time that Hubert is standing on the steps, watching her. She meets his gaze and raises her glass, gives him a smile that she hopes looks innocent. Hubert’s expression doesn’t change.
David walks up to the bonfire and pushes the torch deep inside. The fire catches so quickly that the wood must be drenched in some kind of accelerant. The Green Man stands motionless as the flames grow bigger.
‘A fascinating ritual, don’t you think?’ Per says. ‘Beneath the civilised surface we Tornaby residents are still pagans.’
Thea murmurs a response. She sees David go over to Nettan who takes his arm, holds onto it, caresses his elbow with her thumb.
The flames are leaping into the air now, licking at the Green Man’s legs as they devour the wood.
Thea glances at Hubert. He is still staring at her.
‘Nature is hungry and the Green Man is riding through the forests.’
‘What did you say?’
Per gives a wry smile. ‘It’s something my dad used to say when I was little. He pretends to be a hard man, but he’s actually very superstitious. We’ve got Green Man figures on both the house and the stables. He makes them himself every year.’
‘Oh yes?’
Thea looks around for Per’s father. Finds Ingrid and Dr Andersson, but no Erik Nyberg. Maybe he and Bertil decided to stay inside instead of facing the chilly evening air.
The fire has begun to consume the Green Man. The fresh leaves shrivel up, exposing the twigs beneath, black lines that show through the flames like a skeleton. Arms, legs, the loop forming the empty face. The crackling becomes a dull, alarming bass note. The people on the steps talk louder and louder, until Thea’s ears are almost hurting, but the fire is louder still. Eventually the conversation dies away.
The Green Man is burning now, the flames reaching up into the sky. They are reflected in the eyes of the watchers on the far side of the courtyard. A loud bang from the bonfire sends a shower of sparks into the night.
Suddenly there is a scream. Thea turns towards the east wing. A window is open on the top floor, eight or maybe even ten metres above the ground. Jan-Olof is standing on the sill, clinging on with one hand as he leans out. One of the spotlights catches him as it sweeps across the façade.
‘Fucking liars!’ he roars. ‘Fucking liars, the lot of you!’
A shocked murmur spreads through the crowd.
‘Come down, Jan-Olof!’ Several voices join in. Per and some of the others begin to run towards the main door.
Jan-Olof isn’t listening. His face is ashen, his hair is standing on end. He is swaying alarmingly. Then he sees Thea. He stretches out his arm, points directly at her. She freezes at the top of the steps.
‘Thea!’ he yells. ‘Tell Leo I’m sorry! Promise!’
She opens her mouth to reply. Say something, anything, to make him get down from the windowsill, but before she can speak, Jan-Olof’s body jerks. He looks over his shoulder into the darkened room as if he’s heard something. He turns, seems to be on the way back in. Then he wobbles. Falls backwards out of the window and lands on the paving below with a horrible thud.
81
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hea breaks into a run, pushing aside people on the steps to get through.
Jan-Olof is lying on his back. One leg is bent at an unnatural angle, and a pool of blood has begun to spread beneath his head. He’s semi-conscious; his eyelids are fluttering and one arm is twitching. His breathing is rapid and shallow.
‘I need something to stop the bleeding!’ she shouts.
People crowd around her. She catches a glimpse of David and Nettan, with Sebastian and his girlfriend diagonally behind them.
‘Give me something to stop the bleeding!’ she yells again. ‘And call an ambulance!’
Someone gives her a handkerchief. It’s much too small, but it’s better than nothing. She feels at the back of Jan-Olof’s head, searching for the wound. Presses the handkerchief against it.
Jan-Olof’s breathing is becoming more laboured. His chest rattles, he opens and closes his eyes. People are crowding in from all directions, Thea hardly has room to move.
‘Stand back!’ a man bellows in English. He pushes away those nearest to her and kneels down beside her. It’s Philippe. Where has he come from? What’s he doing here?
He hands her a scarf. ‘What can I do?’
Thea gently lifts Jan-Olof’s head, presses the scarf to the wound as hard as she dares.
‘Hold this,’ she instructs him. ‘Try to keep the pressure even while I check if he has any more injuries.’
She gently runs her hands over Jan-Olof’s chest and stomach.
‘I’ve got emergency services on the phone,’ someone says. Thea looks up;
it’s Sebastian’s girlfriend, Bianca. ‘What shall I tell them?’
‘We have someone who’s fallen from a height of between eight and ten metres. Severe head trauma, multiple fractures and possible internal bleeding.’
Jan-Olof’s chest rattles again. His breathing becomes shallower.
‘The ambulance is on its way,’ Bianca says. ‘There’s one nearby.’
Jan-Olof’s face is turning grey. Thea checks his pulse; it’s faint and uneven. She lifts his chin, tips back his head and opens his mouth. Gently pinches his nose and blows two slow, long breaths into his lungs.
His chest rises and falls, then nothing.
‘What shall we do?’ Philippe asks.
At that moment the crowd parts to let Dr Andersson through.
‘Head trauma, broken bones. Faint pulse, breathing compromised.’
The doctor kneels down beside Thea with some difficulty, then helps by holding Jan-Olof’s head while Thea breathes into his lungs again, more deeply this time.
Jan-Olof’s chest rises and falls as before, but suddenly he coughs, takes a deep, hacking breath, then another. His eyelids flutter, open.
He stares at Thea, then Dr Andersson.
‘Can you hear me?’ Thea asks. No response. ‘Can you hear me, Jan-Olof?’
His eyes are wide open. He takes another shuddering breath. His lips move as if he’s trying to say something.
‘Tell Leo . . .’
Thea leans closer; Dr Andersson does the same.
‘Not him,’ Jan-Olof whispers.
‘Not who?’
He half-closes his eyes; he looks as if he’s fighting to remain conscious. He raises one hand and points over her shoulder. She hears the sound of fast-approaching sirens in the distance.
‘Not him. It was me.’
Thea follows Jan-Olof’s finger. Realises he’s pointing straight at David.
82
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an-Olof stops breathing again during the journey, but Thea and the paramedic manage to revive him.
The emergency team takes over when they reach the hospital in Helsingborg. Thea watches from the sidelines until his condition is stabilised, then she goes into the toilets and splashes her face with cold water. Her dress is spattered with Jan-Olof’s blood. She finds an empty waiting room and tries to call David, but he doesn’t answer.
Only now does she have the chance to think back over what happened. Was Jan-Olof’s fall an accident? Impossible to say. He was very drunk, and could easily have lost his balance, but for a moment it looked as if he’d heard someone or something in the room behind him.
She tries to remember what he was rambling about up in the bridal suite. He seemed to think she was in cahoots with Leo, working for him. Where had that come from? After a while she realises that Jan-Olof must have misunderstood her at his mother’s house the other day.
Whatever the reason, it’s clear that the thought of Leo tormented him. Frightened him. What did he mean by the last words he managed to get out?
Not him. It was me.
He’d been pointing at David.
Not him. It was me.
Who did what?
She tries David again; still no answer. She finds Kerstin Miller’s home number; the teacher answers right away.
‘Thank you so much for calling – how’s Jan-Olof?’
‘He’s in intensive care. One lung was punctured, but fortunately the head injury looked worse than it was. He has a broken leg and a number of other fractures, but if there are no further complications, he should make a full recovery.’
‘Thank God you were there, Thea.’ Kerstin’s voice is both sad and warm at the same time.
‘One more thing – could you let Jan-Olof’s mother know what’s happened? Maybe someone could go and see her tomorrow morning – I think she’s pretty dependent on him.’
‘No problem. And just give me a call if there’s anything else I can do.’
‘I will. Bye now.’
Thea closes her eyes and rests her head on the wall.
She is back in the stone circle. Hubert is holding the camera, she is standing beside him watching as Elita and the children pose. Hubert takes one photograph after another. He shakes them to make the colours and images appear more quickly. Elita runs to him, looks over his shoulder. Laughs and points.
Then everything changes.
It is night-time. Hubert and the children are gone. Elita stands alone by the sacrificial stone, the silk ribbons trailing from her wrists. She is waiting for someone. The person who is going to take her away.
The dream slowly dissolves, the colours fade away, then the contours, like a Polaroid in reverse, until all that remains is a little boy hiding among the trees.
Not him. It was me.
And suddenly she understands what Jan-Olof meant. What David and the others are hiding.
‘Hello?’
Thea opens her eyes. How long has she been asleep? Half an hour, maybe.
A nurse is standing in front of her.
‘Jan-Olof has regained consciousness – you can come and see him if you like.’
*
He is lying in a bed with tubes and wires all over the place. His head is bandaged, eyes closed. A ventilator is helping him to breathe.
‘He squeezed my hand a little while ago,’ the nurse tells her. ‘So he can hear what you’re saying.’
Thea goes up to the bed.
‘Hi, Jan-Olof, it’s Thea.’ She takes his hand, hesitates briefly. It would probably be better to wait, but if she’s right, this secret has haunted him for over thirty years, slowly eating him up from the inside, and it will continue to do so until the truth comes out.
‘There’s something I want to ask you. About the night Elita died.’
She bends down and whispers in his ear. Receives a faint but unmistakable squeeze of her hand in response.
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he taxi drops Thea outside the castle. The courtyard is almost deserted, the fire baskets have burned out, and a pile of glowing embers is all that remains of the bonfire. There is broken glass on the steps.
She finds David in the dining room, sitting with his parents and Arne. He is leaning forward, his eyes are empty. There are still glasses and coffee cups on the table. Thea pauses in the doorway for a few seconds, then goes over to him.
‘I tried to call you. Jan-Olof’s going to be OK.’ She stands behind David, places a hand on his shoulder.
He doesn’t answer; he continues to stare blankly into space.
‘What did Jan-Olof mean when he asked you to tell Leo he was sorry?’ Ingrid demands.
Thea shrugs. ‘I don’t know. He’s got it into his head that I know Leo. Which I don’t,’ she adds quickly.
‘And how did he get that idea?’
‘I haven’t a clue.’
‘When did you speak to Jan-Olof? Arne says he checked on him a couple of times in the bridal suite and he was out for the count.’
‘I . . .’ Thea searches for a reasonable explanation. ‘I went up to see if he was all right, given how drunk he was. He woke up and started rambling about Leo. I’m not even sure he recognised me.’
Ingrid clearly doesn’t believe her.
‘And that guy from the mining company – where does he come into the picture?’
‘Philippe? I really don’t know. He just appeared out of nowhere. As I said before, he’s a patient.’
Ingrid and Arne exchange a long look.
‘You do realise this is all your fault,’ her mother-in-law informs her.
‘My fault?’ Thea instinctively steps back.
‘You’ve destroyed everything. The castle, the restaurant, David’s reputation. Everything.’ Ingrid shakes her head. Thea has no idea what she’s supposed to say.
‘We tried to warn you, Thea. Tried to stop you digging up the past. That wretched little gypsy girl . . .’
‘Her name was Elita,’ Thea says without thinking. ‘Elita Svart.�
�
Ingrid raises her eyebrows.
‘She was a little gypsy girl who’s been dead for many years, and because of her you’ve thrown away everything we’ve worked for. Opened up old wounds. Driven poor Jan-Olof to try and take his own life.’
‘That’s not what happened. He didn’t jump, he fell. Or—’ She breaks off.
‘We were all there. Don’t try and get out of it,’ Ingrid snaps.
‘I’m not. Jan-Olof lost his balance – or someone pushed him.’
Ingrid holds up her hand.
‘We don’t want to hear any more of your lies. Enough, Thea. Or would you rather I called you Jenny? Jenny Boman?’
Thea’s knees almost give way, but she reaches for the back of a chair and manages to stay on her feet. Arne avoids her gaze; their pact has obviously been broken.
‘You lied to us,’ Ingrid continues. ‘Lied to me and Bertil. And to David.’ She gestures towards her son, who is still staring into space. ‘You deceived him, didn’t tell him who you really are. What he was marrying into.’
‘He wasn’t marrying into anything,’ Thea replies as calmly as she can. ‘I’ve had no contact with my family since I was nineteen. The reason I changed my name and applied for a protected identity was to get away from them.’
Ingrid lets out a snort of derision.
‘As if that makes any difference. You’re still your father’s daughter, regardless of whether you’ve changed your name or not. If we’d known from the start, we would never have let you into our family. Just look at what you’ve done!’ She waves a hand around the messy, deserted room. ‘Your lies have ruined everything!’
Thea has had enough.
‘My lies? What about yours – claiming that Arne was at the stone circle when Elita died? Or the even bigger lie, the one David told the police when he said he was the one who ran back and saw Leo bending over Elita.’
David’s body jerks as if someone has slapped him.
‘It was Jan-Olof who went back, wasn’t it, David? Not you.’
‘I . . .’ David’s eyes dart from Thea to Ingrid and back again.
Ingrid reaches out and pats his arm. ‘You don’t need to say anything.’
‘Your mother’s right,’ Thea goes on. ‘You don’t need to say anything. Jan-Olof has already told the truth. He was the one who saw someone bending over Elita, but he wasn’t at all sure that it was Leo, which is why he didn’t want to say anything when the four of you were interviewed by the police. He wasn’t prepared to support the version you’d agreed on in the bar.’
Rites of Spring Page 33
