“Sit,” he said, and she and the dogs obeyed. At that, a smile twisted briefly on his face, but quickly disappeared. “How did you know where to find me?”
“I knew the name of your house.” She didn’t want to say that Greta had told it to her. “I googled the address.”
“Hmf.” He refilled the glass, threw back the contents, then poured himself another serving. “And why are you here?”
She could have done with a wee something herself, but she wasn’t about to ask. She reminded herself of that moment in the office today, when she’d had a tiny glimpse of a more genuine Alvar. Maybe he hadn’t been a good father so far, but there must be something good, somewhere in his DNA, if he’d managed to make a man like Jakob. She plunged in.
“I’m here because of Jakob.”
“That is not your business.”
Maybe, but she was doing it anyway. “Yes, I’m butting in, and I know nothing about you, but I know something about Jakob. Don’t you think he deserves a father, even now?”
“It’s not possible.” He shook his head as he emptied the last of the bottle into his glass, then lifted it unsteadily to his lips. How much had he put away since he got home?
“It is possible,” she said. “Don’t just give up on your family. Life’s too short.”
He slugged the drink and set the glass back on the table, hard. “I know that.”
“Of course…I’m sorry. Your…Brigitta. She was so young.”
“She wasn’t my Brigitta.” He went to a cabinet in the corner and pulled out another bottle, then sat back down and refilled his glass. “She never was.”
“Well…I’m sorry,” she said again. She didn’t really know what their relationship had been like, or why it hadn’t worked out. But why hadn’t he tried to be a father to Jakob, when each one of them was all the other had? “But Jakob is yours. And you’re his. And you’re both here still.”
He tipped back his head and laughed.
“You have been here for five minutes, and you want to fix us? Who are you, anyway?”
I’m a fake. Maybe he didn’t know it yet, but he would. And it seemed like she was nothing to Jakob now—worse than nothing—so she went with the other, less incriminating facts.
“I’m a volunteer at the Nilssons’ lodge. And I’m Claire’s friend.” She didn’t need his help to find Claire any more, but his previous denial was niggling at her. “I know she was here—she went to Australia with Oscar Nilsson. You knew her, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” he said. “I did.”
He stood up and took a packet of cigarettes from the mantelpiece, and pulled one out. She watched as he lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply, his eyes narrowing.
“So why did you tell me you didn’t know her?”
He flicked ash into the fire, and shrugged. “That was in the past. She wasn’t here long.”
“That’s not a reason to deny it. I needed to find her, for her mother.” She saw the chink in his armour again, and pressed her point. “And why would Fredrik deny it too?”
He took one last long drag on the cigarette, and threw it into the flames, unfinished. “It’s nothing to do with Fredrik.”
“You were going to tell me something, before Fredrik came into your office. Why do you let him be so…”
She couldn’t think how to say it exactly, and looking at his face now, she knew she probably shouldn’t go there. But the way Fredrik had treated them both made her blood boil. “Why does he act like he owns you?”
“He does not.”
He turned abruptly and reached for the bottle, then saw that it was empty. Sensing his mood, the hounds jumped up, whining as they trailed after him to a liquor cabinet on the other side of the room. He plucked out another bottle and made his way back, his unsteady gait betraying the amount he must have had to drink. Then one of the dogs darted in front of him, and he fell over it, landing heavily on the pale woven rug. The bottle hit the dog’s back, and it skittered away with a yelp, then turned and slunk back for reassurance.
She got up and went to help, shooing both the dogs out of the way. But he shooed her away too, so she stepped back and knelt just out of arm’s reach.
“That’s exactly how he acts,” she said quietly. “It’s not right. And why won’t Jakob talk to either of you?”
He sat himself up, the unbroken bottle back in his hand. “This is not your business.”
“Okay. Fine.” She let it go, for now. “But Fredrik told me to ask you one thing. Were you in Stockholm with him last weekend?”
“I was.”
Oh. “Really? You were?”
He fixed her with a withering look—as withering as anyone could manage from the floor, surrounded by dogs.
“What do you want—train tickets? Hotel receipts? A note from my mother?”
“Fine.” She stood up. So much for that. On the other hand, maybe he was just being a yes-man for Fredrik—that seemed to be their dynamic. There must be some reason behind it. And she was pretty sure it must have something to do with Jakob not speaking to either of them.
“I didn’t poison the wolves, you know,” she said. “Fredrik did it—his own sister told me.”
He pulled himself to his feet, swaying slightly. “He has no reason to do that.”
“He works for you. Don’t you want to know the truth?” she asked. “For Jakob’s sake, at least? The wolves are special to him.”
He kneed a dog out of the way, and went back to the mantelpiece for another cigarette. Avoiding her eye, he lit up again, taking his time to inhale, then exhale, as she waited. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. She stifled a cough.
“I think you do care,” she said.
He went over to the door. “Thank you for coming.”
She stood for a moment, then took the gigantic hint. As she went through the door, she looked directly at him.
“Go and see him,” she said. “Please. At least try.”
He just held out a hand, inviting her to go ahead of him.
She went. She’d tried her best.
It had started snowing while they were talking, and now the dogs rushed outside, snapping at the snow and racing around like lunatics. She had to smile, enjoying their lollopy joy at being out in the glorious white stuff.
She’d miss this.
She turned to say goodbye to Alvar, but he just nodded. Then he called the dogs in, and shut the door.
In the sudden quiet, she sighed. Maybe Fredrik would win this one after all—but maybe, today, she’d done one good thing for Jakob. It would have to be enough. Because tomorrow, when Greta and Bengt were back from safari, she’d finally have to confess all…and pack her bags.
Thirty-One
She drove back into Lillavik and out the other side, then settled in for a slow, careful journey to the lodge. The snow was thickening now, and she put the windscreen wipers on. Hopefully it wouldn’t get too heavy—before now, she’d never driven in anything more than a few flakes. But the road was empty, the headlights were on (standard procedure year-round, day and night, apparently), and Bengt had said that the car had its winter tyres on. All she had to do was keep it steady, and she’d be fine.
Well, as fine as a person on her way to face the music could be.
And then, around a bend in the road, she was suddenly facing something else—a huge elk, making its leisurely way from one side to the other.
With no time to think, she swerved, and the car shot across the opposite lane and off the road. It hit a snow bank with an impact that knocked all the air out of her body, and whipped her head back. Dazed, she worked to catch her breath, her whole body shaking.
Greta’s warnings—so funny at the time—had been all too prescient.
The engine was still running. She turned it off, then got out of the car just in time to see the animal trotting away unharmed. At least it was okay. No one could accuse her of being an elk killer too. She rubbed her chest where the seatbelt had tightened across her body. And she was okay
, it seemed. But the car…the front of it had ploughed into a snow bank, and she wasn’t sure how much damage might have been done. She scraped away what snow she could, then got in the car, restarted the engine, and tried to reverse out. But the wheels spun uselessly.
Outside, the snow was still falling heavily, and she realised that she needed help before it got dark. She reached for her phone. Thank God there was a signal. But who could she call? Bengt and Greta were away with the guests who-knew-where, Stina was sitting her exam today, and she didn’t have anyone else’s number.
Apart from one other person.
She peered through the windscreen. Even though he couldn’t drive in bad weather, he might know someone who would. Despite everything that had happened, she was pretty sure he wouldn’t let her freeze out here.
Mostly pretty sure.
She took a breath, and dialled the number. After what seemed like a hundred rings, he answered.
“Zoe.”
His tone held not a speck of encouragement, but she had no choice.
“Jakob…I need help.”
* * *
It was one of the better ways to die, she’d read. Unpleasantly cold at first, sure. But after a while, your body slows down, and you just drift off into oblivion. She looked at her phone. Twenty minutes since she’d phoned Jakob. Right now, with the car running and the heating on, she was comfortable. Toasty, even. But if it ran out of petrol, how soon would the chill set in, and frostbite start to nip?
Then she heard a truck pass by. She jumped out of the car and struggled up to the roadside, but it had already gone. She looked one way and the other along the empty road. Maybe she should wait there, in case someone else came past. But it was only her, and the road, and the endless, inscrutable pines. That damn elk was probably watching her from behind a tree trunk. After a few minutes she was so freezing, she had to get back into the car. No point in hurrying into hypothermia.
After that, she didn’t hear any more traffic go by.
Surely it wouldn’t be long before someone arrived. In their brief conversation, Jakob had said someone would come and get her, but she didn’t know who. She checked her phone again. Forty minutes. Maybe he’d decided to leave her there after all, a satisfying payback for her deception.
Then she heard an engine. She got out, feeling the air sharp in her lungs, and scrambled up to the road, snow falling thickly around her. A four-wheel-drive was making its way towards her, agonisingly, excruciatingly slowly. She narrowed her eyes, trying to see. It looked like Jakob’s truck—but who had he lent it to?
An eternity seemed to pass as it drew gradually closer. It came to a stop on the side of the road, and the hazard lights started flashing. Now, Zoe could see the driver. He got out and came around to her, his face tense.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, more surprised than grateful.
“Rescuing you, remember?”
“Yes, thank you, but—”
He turned away and went down to where the car was stuck, running a businesslike eye over the scene.
“We need a winch,” he called up to her. Then he reached into the car and pulled out her bag, and the keys, and locked the car. With long steps, he climbed back up to the road, and gave them to her. “Bengt has one on the truck.”
She nodded. “I’m really sorry. I just automatically swerved to avoid the moose. I didn’t want to hurt it.”
“Elk,” he said. Then he opened his door. “Let’s go.”
She got in the passenger side, and he started the engine. She glanced across at him. Even in his heavy coat, she could see the set of his shoulders, and his jaw was rigid. Apparently, he was still as mad at her as he’d been that morning. She supposed he would be for a long while yet. She kept quiet as he checked the mirrors, put on the indicator, and then did a careful U-turn and started back in the direction of the lodge.
With her bottom on the heated seat and death by hypothermia averted, she started to breathe a little easier. Even with things so wrong between them, it was a huge relief to be safely here with Jakob.
She looked out the window. They really were going very slowly.
Very, very slowly.
She looked at him. His hands were gripping the steering wheel like a drowning man clinging to a life preserver. He seemed to be gritting his teeth. And was that a bead of sweat on his brow? She reached out and touched his arm, ever so gently.
“Are you okay?”
His eyes stayed glued to the road ahead. “Mnh.”
“Are you sure? Because you don’t look okay.”
No answer. A small pulse throbbed in his temple. They were travelling at the pace of a moderately speedy snail—no wonder it had taken him so long to get here.
She tried again. “Jakob.”
He kept driving, a look of grim determination on his face.
“Jakob. Why don’t we stop for a minute?”
The way he was ignoring her was making her nervous. But then they came to the turnoff for a small side road, and he pulled into it, tugged up the hand brake, and turned on the hazard lights.
She leaned towards him. “Are you all right?”
He let out a hard breath of air, and frustration. “Since the accident, I…” He passed a hand across his eyes and turned away from her. “Shit.”
Hearing him swear in English usually made her want to laugh, but there was nothing funny about the vulnerability in his face now.
“It’s all right. That’s perfectly natural.” She put a hand on his arm again. “Why don’t I drive for a bit?” She wasn’t exactly super confident in this weather herself, but it would be better than seeing him have a gradual nervous breakdown at the wheel.
At her suggestion, he looked like she’d offered to carve his manhood on a platter. But then he undid his seatbelt.
“Okay.”
“Okay,” she echoed, keeping her tone light. “Let’s do it.”
Neither of them spoke for the rest of the trip. She focused on not running into any more wildlife, and he looked out the side window. It felt like a long drive.
Back at the lodge, she carefully parked in the garage, then turned off the engine and looked his way. His expression took her back to the dark-and-angsty Jakob of their first days. Now, she’d started to understand where all that came from. And how difficult it must have been for him to make that drive.
“Thank you for rescuing me,” she said, passing him the keys. I know it was hard, she wanted to add. But she didn’t.
He nodded curtly, his hand already on the door handle. “Thanks for driving.”
In the face of his detachment, she wanted to remain equally unmoved, not letting him see any of her own angst. But as he started to get out, something inside her cracked.
“Jakob,” she whispered, her voice betraying the ache in her heart. “Please.”
The briefest hint of regret crossed his face, and for one heart-stopping moment, she thought there was a chance. Her fingers itched to reach out and touch him, retrace the places they’d been on his skin, remind him of what they’d had together.
But then the moment was gone. And so was he.
By the time she climbed down from the driver’s seat and came around, he was already walking away. She stood and watched him go, and he didn’t look back.
One save for another—one drive each. On that count, they were even.
But they were still at zero.
Thirty-Two
Home wasn’t somewhere else this year. It was here after all.
For the eagles, anyway.
Zoe stood in the clearing, breathing the icy morning air, and stared up. High, high above, a golden eagle had finally made itself at home in the nest. Another bird—its mate, she supposed—was sitting on a branch nearby.
She’d decided to sneak in one last trip to the nest before going to see Greta. And here they were.
“You took your time,” she told them.
But way up there, they couldn’t hear her quietly spoken words. Th
ey poked about, getting settled in. There seemed something telling in the fact that they’d arrived just as she’d be leaving. Out with the interloper, in with the true inhabitants.
Captivated, she watched them. They were glorious. Not conventionally beautiful—they had mottled colouring, yellow legs sticking out from feathery pantaloons, huge talon-tipped feet, and small heads with a hooked beak. Not to mention a truly daunting expression, and the sound they made was somewhere between a squawk and a squeak. But they were perfectly, powerfully themselves, exactly where they were meant to be.
Then she remembered that she was supposed to take photos.
“Don’t move,” she told them, reaching into the deep pocket of her coat to find the camera. Zooming in, she took a bunch of close-ups, then backed up and took some wider-angle shots. Just as she’d got exactly what she needed, the second bird took to the air, and she realised how big they really were. It circled around effortlessly, hardly needing to flap its wings despite its impressive size. Watching it, she felt a pang of jealousy. Oh, to be so free.
She took some shots of it on the wing, then walked back to the other side of the clearing, where she’d left the snowmobile. Greta would be beyond thrilled at this news. Maybe—hopefully—it would soften the other news that Zoe was about to confess.
For her, home had to be somewhere else.
* * *
As she approached the lodge buildings, she could see all the snowmobiles parked in a row in the usual spot. Bengt was bustling around with some of the guests, unloading the sled. They waved as she pulled up and turned the engine off.
“Hej,” she said, in reply to their greetings. “How was the safari?”
“Great,” said one of the guests, her nose pink and her smile bright.
“Cold,” said someone else, and everyone laughed, in good spirits all round.
Zoe smiled, remembering how shattering she’d found the cold when she arrived. “Definitely goes with the territory.” Then she turned to Bengt. “Is Greta inside?”
The Near & Far Series Page 20
