She opened the window and leaned out.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I thought I’d go swimming in the lake. You coming?’
‘Now?’ she whispered. ‘In the middle of the night?’
‘No one can sleep when it’s this light anyway.’
Meja craned her neck towards the door, listening out for Torbjörn and Silje, but all she could hear were the sighs of the old house. Her mobile showed 1.30. She smiled down at Carl-Johan.
‘Give me ten minutes, and don’t let anyone see you!’
She brushed her teeth and rolled on some deodorant. She left her hair as it was, hanging loose, and rubbed some gloss over her lips. There was no time for anything else. Out of habit she put a packet of cigarettes in her pocket, but immediately changed her mind. Carl-Johan didn’t like girls who smoked. Quickly she threw the packet into the waste-paper basket, hiding it under the sweet wrappers.
Then she tiptoed down the stairs, avoiding the third step from the bottom that wailed like a cat if it was trodden on. Torbjörn was sitting on the sofa, asleep, with his head at an odd angle. He was naked and his limp penis protruded from the shadows of the pubic hair under his distended belly. Meja turned her head away and carried on towards the front door. From the bathroom off the hall came the sound of retching, a sound that made her throat constrict. Meja put her feet into her Converse, but that was as far as she got. Silje drank too much, swallowed tablets and threw up, that was nothing new, but that shitty feeling of anxiety was still there. Because what if something happened? She stood rooted to the spot, clenching the door handle, hesitating until the retching stopped. Then she opened the door and ran.
Outside the mist had drifted out of the forest and settled like a trail of smoke over the meadow.
Carl-Johan was standing under cover at the fringe of the forest. He gave off a pungent smell of barns and livestock when he held her close.
‘Where are your brothers?’
‘They had to stay home.’
Carl-Johan took her hand and led her in among the pines, plaiting his fingers in hers in a way that felt completely natural. The dog whined mournfully after them as they vanished among the trees. Their feet squelched and the dew painted dark streaks on their jeans, and all they could see of the path was a narrow strip before it was swallowed up in the mist. Meja looked at the back of his neck where his hair curled and felt a tingling in the pit of her stomach, as if something inside her had woken from its slumber. Something new and exciting.
The mist hung over the lake and swirled ghost-like among the trees, which were blue in the early morning light. Carl-Johan led her to a campfire, dropped her hand and started to bring life back to the embers. He broke off twigs and made a tower of logs, then took a lighter from his pocket and set light to some kindling, which he used to feed the fire. He blew gently until the flames took hold and soon it was burning vigorously. His face became beautiful in the flickering shadows, defined and alive. Meja looked into the fire and felt every muscle tense up when he came and stood beside her. The nervousness made her desperate for a smoke. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, so she held them towards the fire and tried to think of something to say. She could hear the water lapping on pebbles.
‘Tell me something about yourself,’ Carl-Johan suddenly asked.
‘What do you want me to tell you?’
‘A secret. Something you’ve never told anyone else.’
Meja looked at him sideways. The flames were dancing in his eyes. She hesitated, thinking the lapping water sounded like it was mocking her. She looked back at the fire and stared at it for a while before she spoke.
‘I was only five years old the first time I got drunk.’
‘You’re joking, right?’
‘No. Silje used to call it grown-up juice. I nagged and nagged to try some, but she said only adults were allowed to drink it. Children would die immediately if they touched a single drop.’ Meja snorted. ‘It only made me more curious. And one evening, when she’d fallen asleep on the sofa, I decided to try it. And I must have liked it, because next morning I woke up in hospital. They’d pumped out my stomach. I nearly died.’
Carl-Johan looked horrified. ‘And you were only five?’
‘According to the medical records. According to Silje I was older, but she only remembers what she wants to remember.’
The fire burned her cheeks and Meja turned away, regretting what she had just said. She realized it was scarcely the kind of secret he had expected. The familiar lump of shame grew in her throat and it hurt her to swallow. Carl-Johan stretched out an arm and drew her towards him, resting his cheek on her forehead.
‘I’m glad you survived, so I had the chance to meet you.’
His chin felt rough against her skin. An unexpected feeling of joy welled up inside her. She could feel the vibrations in his chest as he went on: ‘Do you want to hear one of my secrets?’
She nodded.
‘Promise not to laugh?’
‘I promise.’
‘I’ve never been drunk in my entire life. Never had one drink, not a drop.’
‘What? Honestly?’
‘Hundred per cent.’
Meja turned her head and looked up at him.
‘You think I’m a complete nerd now, don’t you?’ he said.
‘I think it’s brave, going your own way.’
The sun had begun to climb above the forest and it was dazzling them, but she could see he was smiling.
Lelle popped the cork of the Laphroaig, raised the bottle to his nose and deeply inhaled the whisky fumes. Woodsmoke and salty sea water burned his sinuses. The thirst sat at the back of his throat and itched, and the longing to dilute his blood with the alcohol was so overwhelming that it made him start trembling. If only he could blot out all thoughts and lose himself in sleep for a few hours. Sink down on the sofa, numb. That’s what the craving was all about. But the sharp evening sunlight taunted him through the slats of the blind and Lina was in the doorway. A little Lina in pyjamas and tousled hair, with her one-eyed teddy under her arm and her own eyes gleaming like forest tarns. The little child who would never see him drinking. That was the promise he made when she was born. That she would have a proper childhood.
His fingers were like aspen leaves as he pushed the cork back, and the cold sweat in his armpits made him shiver as he made his way to the hall. Outside, summer was taking its first genuine deep breaths. Everything was blooming, birds were trilling and the smell of barbecues and newly mown lawns hit him like a slap in the face. He never believed he would hate summer, but now all it did was remind him of the happiness that no longer existed.
He climbed into the car, smoked his cigarette with the windows closed and concentrated on not looking at his neighbours. He had become skilled at it as the years passed, steeling himself against all the people playing happy families around him. When he reached Storgatan he swung left, towards the village. The blood began humming inside his head and he wished he’d taken a shot of whisky. For his nerves.
It was the men closest to her who were the most dangerous. Lelle had studied the statistics. If someone had harmed Lina, then it was most likely a man she knew, perhaps even loved. A boyfriend.
Delicate birches with their new leaves swayed after him as he turned into a smaller gravel road. There at the end a typical Västerbotten house sat imposingly on a grassy slope. The red exterior glowed in the sun and the windows were blazing mirrors. Lelle parked the car by the avenue of birch trees, stubbed out his cigarette and lit another. He wound down the window and stayed in the car, leaving the motor running just in case they got it into their heads to throw something at him. It had happened before. He took his binoculars from the glove compartment and scanned the front facade. It was bathed in sunlight, which protected it from anyone trying to look in. A set of garden furniture was folded against the wall and recently planted flowers nodded from their large clay pots. There was nothing particular about the place, but even so
he felt a growing anger in his chest. For some people it was easy to move on, to pretend nothing had happened.
There was the sudden groan of a hinge and a figure appeared on the steps. A tall, thin man with a cap on his head and ribs clearly visible through his T-shirt. He headed idly towards Lelle, moving unsteadily across the grass like a young calf. A can of cheap beer glinted in his right hand. Lelle felt his anger turn to bile in his throat. His hand dropped from the wheel and his fingers unconsciously tightened into a fist.
The young man stopped ten metres away and threw his arms wide in a challenging gesture. He almost tripped over his own feet, but he stayed upright and looked at Lelle from under his hooded lids. The corners of his mouth drooped. It looked as if he was going to say something, but instead he raised the empty hand, made a pistol with two fingers and aimed it at Lelle. He shut one eye and jerked his fingers. Then he moved the fingers to his mouth and blew on them without taking his sleepy eyes off Lelle.
Lelle glanced at the glove compartment, where he kept the pistol. He visualized himself stretching over for it and answering the fake shot with a real one: a bullet right through the forehead. Then it would all be over. But he heard Lina’s protests beside him and instead put the car into reverse. He revved hard and skidded round, leaving circular tyre marks behind him and sending gravel flying between the birches, until the man faded in the dust.
In the passenger seat Lina had buried her face in her hands.
Mikael would never hurt me, Dad.
You can see for yourself how he behaves.
He’s angry because you won’t stop blaming him. You of all people ought to know what that feels like.
Lina had met Mikael Varg the year before she disappeared. He was the son of one of the wealthiest men in the village. His parents were well-liked and respected, a couple of powerhouses who belonged to various local organizations and the hunting team, and who invested generously in all kinds of projects that could keep the village alive. Unfortunately, their son was a spoiled brat who had terrorized the community since he was a youngster. At first it was innocent mischief, but as time went on he got involved in more serious trouble, such as theft and illegal driving. Even so, Anette had been charmed by him during the year he and Lina had been together. Mikael Varg had the gift of the gab and stood to inherit some valuable property. A mother-in-law’s dream, in other words. Anette had dismissed his behaviour as youthful stupidity, the kind he would grow out of in time.
The police had interviewed him after Lina’s disappearance and Varg insisted that he ‘was at home, sleeping’ on the morning Lina was supposed to be getting the bus. Naturally his parents backed up his statement, although they were hardly likely to have been standing guard over the boy’s bed in the early morning hours. That alibi satisfied the police, especially when they had nothing else to go on. No sign of a crime. No body.
But that wasn’t good enough for Lelle. He would keep an eye on Mikael until the day Lina came back to him. Several times a week he drove to that godawful avenue of birches just to show the lad that he was still watching him, even if all the others were looking in a different direction. It didn’t bother him in the least that the Varg family had long since grown tired of him dogging their footsteps. They could threaten and shout and aim fake shots at him all they liked. He didn’t care about neighbourliness and community spirit these days. All he wanted was the truth.
The following night they collected her by car. Meja was in her bed, dressed and ready, when the first stone hit the window. The TV was flickering in the sitting room, but the door to Silje and Torbjörn’s room was closed, and his snoring rasped like sandpaper across the walls.
Outside in the damp night Carl-Johan crouched, partly hidden behind Torbjörn’s old car. She felt the tingling in her stomach again when she saw him. He took her hand and pointed along the gravel road.
‘My brother’s waiting round the corner.’
If she was disappointed not to have him to herself, she made sure not to show it. Instead of taking the path down to the lake, they sprinted along the gravel that led to the village. Parked beside the ditch was a red Volvo 240 with its fog lights on. Göran was behind the wheel. His hood was pulled up as if to hide his blemished cheeks, and when Meja sat in the back seat he turned round and grinned at her.
‘Best fasten your seat belt, it’ll be a wild ride.’
The tyres screeched as he swung the car round in the gravel, and Meja’s stomach churned. She clung on to the seat in front of her. Carl-Johan found her eyes in the rear-view mirror.
‘What have you done today?’
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Tried not to die of boredom.’
‘Boredom?’ He smiled. ‘We can do something about that.’
They drove through the village. Everywhere was silent and sleeping. When they pulled out on to a wider, asphalt road she felt Göran accelerate. He was driving with only two fingers on the wheel. She sunk deeper into the shabby upholstery and watched the pines race past.
She didn’t ask where they were going. She was only too pleased to be going somewhere. Away from Silje.
‘What have you all been doing today?’ she asked.
‘Working,’ they said, in unison.
‘What do you do?’
‘All sorts,’ said Carl-Johan. ‘Pretty much anything to do with animals and the land.’
‘So you’re farmers?’
They laughed.
Meja leaned between the two front seats and looked at the deserted road. They didn’t meet any cars, and signs of habitation were few and far between. Small communities were slotted in here and there between the trees, but there was no one about. It was as if they were the sole survivors in a world that had gone under. She might have been afraid if it hadn’t been for Carl-Johan. His hands drummed against his jeans and she didn’t need to see his lips to know he was smiling.
The first vehicle they met was a police patrol car. It was stationary in a lay-by and Meja noticed Göran slowing down.
‘Shit, shit, shit!’
‘Take it easy,’ said Carl-Johan. ‘He’s just having a nap.’
Göran went on swearing as they cruised past the car. Meja peered through the windscreen, but couldn’t see anyone inside. When they had left it behind and it hadn’t made any attempt to tail them, Göran banged his fist on the wheel and cheered.
‘What are the police doing out here in the back of beyond?’ Meja asked, when he had calmed down.
‘Good question,’ said Göran. ‘Corrupt bastards.’
Carl-Johan turned to her and winked. ‘Perhaps I should inform you that none of us has a driving licence, so it’s always a bit stressful when we run into the cops.’
‘Why haven’t you got driving licences?’
Göran pulled down his hood, revealing his pockmarked cheeks. He twisted the rear-view mirror so he could see her.
‘I’ve been driving a car half my life,’ he said. ‘Why should I pay the state a load of money just so they can give their approval?’
Meja leaned back in the seat. ‘We’ve never even owned a car,’ she said.
The sun rose in the sky and she noticed they were coming to a larger town. Church towers and rooftops were visible in a valley, and a wide river carved its way between the buildings. They passed a row of single-storey houses and Göran almost ran over a cat that darted across the road.
Meja didn’t ask where they were. It didn’t seem important. Part of her hoped they would never drive back. Göran swung off into an all-night filling station and parked beside one of the pumps. Carl-Johan asked if she would like an ice cream and when they got out he put his arm round her waist. The brightly lit shop was empty apart from the assistant, who was young and pretty and wore her hair in a thick brown plait over one shoulder.
Göran pulled up his hood again and combed his hair over his forehead. When they had chosen their ice creams, he was the one who offered to pay. Meja heard him say something to the girl behind the till and she smiled at him,
but it wasn’t a genuine smile.
When they returned to the car, Carl-Johan chose to sit in the back seat with Meja. He leaned forward and slapped his brother on the shoulder.
‘How did it go? Did you get her number?’
‘No.’
‘What are you waiting for?’
‘She doesn’t want to give me her number.’
‘How do you know if you never have the guts to ask?’
Göran put the ice cream in his mouth and turned the key in the ignition.
‘I’ve got eyes to see, haven’t I?’ he said. ‘I can forget girls like that.’
On the way back Carl-Johan sat with his arm around Meja. She shut her eyes against the sunlight and was lulled by the motion of the car. Behind the wheel Göran was utterly silent under his hood.
Lelle parked beside Maravältan and made sure he was alone before getting out of the car. He walked softly to the edge of the massive precipice and stood so close his toes were protruding over the top. The earth was loose after the rain and soft sand trickled like water down into the depths. The place had once served as an ättestupa or kin precipice, a legendary place where families rid themselves of useless old relatives who could no longer contribute or lend a hand.
He lit a cigarette and leaned out over the drop. It took his breath away, a feeling he liked. It was proof that the blood was still flowing in his veins, even though he felt more dead than alive. And the thought of jumping felt liberating, as if he had a choice even if that was only wishful thinking. He would never be able to end his life until he found out what had happened to Lina. Otherwise he would have done it long ago.
He heard a car pull up behind him. The door opened and emitted the low murmur of a police radio. There were heavy footsteps in the sand and the rattle of keys. Lelle raised a hand in greeting without having to turn round. He already knew.
‘Shit, Lelle, do you have to stand so near the edge?’
The Silver Road Page 5
