Lelle secured the gun and put it down on a bookshelf. His anger made him afraid of it. Anette looked at him in silence for a while. Her eyes were red, as if she had been crying. She turned to face the map and the pinheads scattered across the thin paper.
‘What’s this?’
‘What does it look like? It’s a map.’
‘And the pins?’
‘They mark the places I’ve searched.’
Anette raised a fist to her mouth. She had stopped breathing, but she wasn’t crying. She stood motionless and studied the map for a long time. Then slowly she turned her head and looked at him.
‘I’m here to say that you can stop looking now,’ she said. ‘Lina doesn’t exist. She’s dead.’
Meja dug in her backpack for something to put on. She was ashamed of how few clothes she had. A couple of washed-out pairs of jeans and four faded T-shirts. Odd socks. For as long as she could remember she had been teased about wearing the same clothes every day, looking wrong, dirty.
Carl-Johan sat on the bed, his eyes shining.
‘You’re fine just as you are,’ he said. ‘You don’t need to make an effort.’
Silje and Torbjörn had moved to the bedroom by the time they came downstairs. The dog sat outside the door, forlornly scratching it with its paw. It threw a reproachful look at Meja and Carl-Johan as they passed. The TV was on, but they could still hear the coaxing on the other side of the door. Meja couldn’t get into the hall fast enough.
‘Aren’t you going to tell them we’re leaving?’
‘They won’t notice anyway.’
The sign to Svartliden pointed straight into the forest and the road consisted of nothing more than a couple of deep wheel tracks separated by swaying grass. The spruces were so close that their branches scraped the wing mirrors. It seemed unlikely that a road like this would lead anywhere.
The rain came from nowhere and obliterated the forest. Carl-Johan gave a whistle as it rattled against the roof of the car. He had one hand on the wheel, nonchalantly, as if the car was steering itself. From time to time he glanced at Meja and smiled, as if trying to convince himself she was still sitting there. Meja held her head erect and tried not to show the anxiety she felt. She always felt small when she went to other people’s homes. Real homes were alien worlds where she didn’t know the rules. She was used to mattresses on the floor, bathrooms without toilet paper and kitchens that echoed. She and Silje had never had a proper home, merely versions of something that didn’t even come close. For Carl-Johan it was different. He seemed proud of his background.
They reached a tall gate, made of metal bars. Welcome to Svartliden was painted at the top. Meja sank further into her seat as Carl-Johan stepped out of the car and opened it.
‘What a gate,’ she said.
‘Me and my brothers made it. Everything you see on this farm has been made by our family.’
The forest opened up to reveal a large meadow where a group of cows was grazing. A gravel drive led to a turning circle in front of a huge house, standing like a wooden castle where the forest began, with barns and outbuildings on either side. Meja’s stomach lurched. To think people lived like this.
Carl-Johan pointed out the stables and the dog pens, where the shaggy animals had their front paws on the bars and were barking furiously at them. Beside the pens was a potato plot as big as a tennis court.
‘You can’t see it because of the forest, but the lake is over there.’
‘It’s lovely.’
Meja stayed in the car. She put her hands on her stomach and tried breathing slowly to calm herself down. She had always hated meeting other people’s parents, hated the way they weighed her up, judged her. Especially the mothers, who could spot the failings.
What do your parents do?
Mum’s an artist.
An artist? Oh, I see. What kind of artist?
She paints pictures.
Would we have heard of her?
Don’t think so.
And your father, what does he do?
Don’t know.
You don’t know what your father does?
He doesn’t live with us.
Oh.
There was nothing more to be said. At worst they already knew who Silje was, and then they didn’t ask any questions at all.
Lelle stared at the floor to avoid looking at Anette’s contorted face, but he could hear her whimpering and sniffing.
‘For the first two years I felt her, I felt she was alive. My heart lit up when I thought of her. You know, a kind of warmth. But it’s not there any more. The light has gone out.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Anette took a couple of steps forward, threw her arms around him and rested her cheek on his arm. ‘She’s dead, Lelle. Our daughter is dead. I’ve felt it all winter. Something inside me has broken. I can’t explain it, but that’s how it is – our daughter is dead.’
‘I’m not listening to this bullshit.’
He tried to back out of her grasp, but she clung on hard, pressing her wet face against his T-shirt and groping for his skin. She clasped and clawed and in the end he gave up and let her hold him, wrapped his own arms around her, first loosely, but then tighter. They clung to each other as if their life depended on it, and he couldn’t recall them ever holding each other this way. As if they were being destroyed from within.
When Anette lifted her face to his he kissed her without thinking. She tasted of salty tears and he kissed her hard and pressed his groin into hers in a desperate attempt to get closer. He had to get closer. Anette began pulling at his clothes, fumbling and tugging at his flies, before dragging him down on top of her and helping him to force his way inside her. She wrapped her legs around his waist as if to lock him to her. He thrust hard, harder than he wanted to, and he could see the tears dropping from his face on to hers. Her nails dug into his skin and it stung, and he realized it was the stinging he wanted. The actual pain.
Afterwards they lay side by side, sharing a cigarette. Sunlight flooded through the blinds and fell in stripes across their naked bodies. Anette prodded his ribs.
‘You’ve lost weight.’
‘No need to worry about me.’
‘You’re skinny and dirty and you don’t get enough sleep. You’re wearing yourself out.’
She stood up and pulled on her clothes. He studied the freckly skin above her breasts and thought how much he would like to rest his head there, just above her heart. His buttocks stung from her nails. He wondered what it meant, this making love to her. Whether she would go home and tell Thomas, or whether it was just one of those things that happened. He wanted her to stay, but at the same time he knew there was no room for her. A heavy, suffocating weariness had come over him and he thought he could sleep just as he was, naked on the floor. But Anette had disappeared into the kitchen and he heard the sound of breaking eggs and the rattle of pans, the puff of the percolator and voices on the radio. Anette called to him through the coffee aroma to come and eat.
When he went into the kitchen he saw she had pulled up the blinds and was standing in the sunshine, and for a moment everything was exactly as it should be. Lina in bed upstairs, Anette about to call her down. The sun was shining in so convincingly that there was no room for nightmares. But when Anette poured the coffee he saw the sad lines around her mouth and knew it was all an illusion. She sat down opposite him, in the same place she sat when she lived here, but now her back was straighter and she looked uncomfortable. Two heaps of scrambled eggs lay between them. Lelle was so hungry that he felt sick as he stuck his fork into the food. Anette watched him through the steam from her mug.
‘Don’t get angry now, but I meant what I said. I’m certain Lina has gone.’
‘It makes no difference. I still won’t give up until I’ve found her.’
In Carl-Johan’s home she was met by light wood and warm colours, and a rich aroma of stewed meat and herbs. A woman in an apron and with rough, red han
ds came out from the kitchen and greeted them. She was darker and slimmer than Carl-Johan, but had the same fine features. She smiled and pulled at the silver-grey plait hanging over her shoulder.
‘You must be Meja. I’m really pleased to meet you. My name’s Anita.’
She led them into the kitchen where an older man was sitting at the table, cleaning a gun of some kind. The various parts were spread out in front of him and his eyes were slits when he looked up at Meja. He inspected her from top to toe and all the way out to her fingertips, as if he was taking stock of her. Meja’s skin prickled and it felt as if her whole body was on fire.
‘And who have we here?’ he asked, pointing at her with the dirty rag he was holding.
‘This is Meja,’ Carl-Johan said. ‘My girlfriend.’
‘Meja, eh? I’ve heard a lot about you.’
Birger stood up and when he opened his mouth she could see dark gaps between his teeth. He looked old – too old to have a son of Carl-Johan’s age – but he was broad and robust despite his age, and his handshake was strong when he reached out to greet her.
There was milk and rye-bread rolls, and home-made blueberry jam that stained their lips. Birger talked about the farm and the land, the ancient forest, the marshlands and Svartliden Lake. The berries, mushrooms and fish. They could feed an entire village, he said, and things would only get better. Anita stood with her back to them, peeling root vegetables. Her shoulders jerked with the effort. She didn’t say much, but neither did Carl-Johan. He only sat with his arm tight around Meja, his eyes shining. The light fell on his throat, illuminating the thin blue veins near the surface. She thought she could see his pulse beating underneath.
‘Carl-Johan tells me you’re from further south,’ Birger said.
‘I was born in Stockholm, but we’ve lived pretty much all over the place.’
‘I moved about a lot as well, when I was young,’ Birger said. ‘My parents couldn’t look after me, so I was sent from one foster family to the next. Never got to put down roots. It’s a tough way to grow up, gives you a protective shell. That’s why I want to give my sons the things I never had. Somewhere settled. Security.’
Meja liked his voice, the way it vibrated through the room. The laughter lines that gave the impression that he enjoyed life.
Anita pushed the plate of rolls towards Meja.
‘Don’t hold back. Eat some more.’
The kitchen smelled of food and cleaning products. The surfaces gleamed. There were no ashtrays or empty bottles. An antique clock ticked in the corner. The stove had black iron doors and on the rag rug in front of it a cat was lying on its back, peering at them. There was a calmness here and Meja felt her muscles relax.
‘You must show her the animals,’ said Anita, when they had finished eating. ‘We’ve got newborn calves and kids.’
The evening sun blazed over the barn and the meadow where the cows were grazing. Carl-Johan’s fingers felt rough in hers. She could tell he worked with his hands. He led her through the wild flowers and the mosquitoes, and introduced her to the animals as if they were humans. Agda, Indra, Tindra and Knut. And Algot, but you don’t mess with him. Her hands stroked sun-warmed skin and fed hay to soft mouths. Tiny kids drew circles on the ground with their unsteady legs, and Carl-Johan picked them up in his arms as if they were cuddly toys.
‘This is paradise,’ said Meja, as they sat with their backs to the barn wall.
It was night, but nothing seemed to be sleeping. Carl-Johan pulled a piece of hay from her hair and she wondered how it would feel to sleep next to him. To wake up in a place like this.
A door groaned in the silence and soon they saw a gangly figure walking towards the clearing. It was Göran, the oldest brother. He was holding a fishing rod and raised it when he saw them. Meja and Carl-Johan waved back.
‘He can’t sleep when it’s this light, so he catches fish for us, for breakfast.’
‘Fish for breakfast?’
‘It tastes amazing.’
Carl-Johan stood up and brushed as much grass from his jeans as he could, before holding out his hand to her.
‘Stay the night here and you’ll find out.’
Lelle woke on the sofa in the sitting room. Laughter from the neighbour’s barn floated into the room. According to the clock it was 6.30 and his body ached as he stood up and headed for the kitchen. He swore loudly when he realized he had wasted a whole night sleeping. Not until he saw the frying pan in the sink did he remember that Anette had been there. He could still hear her voice telling him Lina was dead, and he shook himself as if to shake off the words. Anette had always had a kind of sixth sense.
He rinsed his face and mouth with cold water. Through the window he saw the empty hammock and heard the chains rustling in the wind. Anette lay there an eternity ago, spinning her ring from a chain over her distended stomach.
We’re going to have a girl, Lelle.
How can you be so sure?
I just know.
He dried his face on one of the tea towels and looked towards the office doorway. Book spines stared back at him out of the gloom. Had they really made love?
He unlocked the front door and hurried to the postbox to get the morning paper. On top of the newspaper lay a shiny key. Anette’s key. Ever since she left him she had refused to return the key, as if she couldn’t really let him go. In actual fact it was the house she couldn’t relinquish, the house where Lina grew up. But here it was, shining as if nothing special had happened.
Back in the kitchen he could hear Lina jeering at him because he still read a newspaper. Nobody reads newspapers these days. He could visualize her there, in her place at the table, could almost hear that sarcastic voice she had adopted. He dropped the inky pages on to the worn tabletop with a slap, as if she were sitting there, as if he wanted to tease her in return. Here you have a real newspaper, not a blasted screen. But the only thing he stirred up was the dust, and it took a while before he saw the headline: 17-YEAR-OLD GIRL MISSING – POLICE NOT RULING OUT CRIME. The police and the public are searching for a 17-year-old girl who disappeared from the Kraja camp grounds in Arjeplog in the early hours of Sunday morning. The girl was camping with a friend in this popular location close to Motorway 95. According to her friend she left the tent early in the morning and never returned. The friend called the police who have made a thorough search of the area with the help of volunteers and the Home Guard. ‘We cannot eliminate a crime at this stage and we are therefore keen for members of the public to come forward with any information,’ said Mats Niemi of Arjeplog Police. The girl has blonde hair, blue eyes and is 156 cm tall. At the time of the disappearance she was wearing a black vest top, black jeans and white Nike trainers.
Lelle read the lines over and over again, but the words kept merging into one. The coffee burned in his throat as he got up and started pacing up and down the floor. Through the window he saw the neighbours’ children, but their voices didn’t reach him. His stomach abruptly contracted and he threw his head over the sink, vomiting up hot coffee and sour bile. He felt the sweat slide down his back and his arms begin to shake, and when he sank to the floor he rammed his fists into his eyes and let out a howl.
His right cheek was resting against the cool wooden floor and his mobile was digging into him. Lelle fumbled in his pocket and put the screen to his ear, listened to his heart, beating faster and faster. Finally, Hassan’s voice: ‘Lelle, what’s up?’
‘Have you heard?’
‘Heard what?’
‘About the missing seventeen year old in Arjeplog.’
There was a long sigh above the static of the police radio. ‘Lelle, it’s way too early to draw any conclusions.’
‘Is it?’
‘The search is still very much underway.’
‘I have a feeling they won’t find her,’ Lelle heard his voice crack. ‘I’m afraid it will be the same as Lina.’
‘I can understand that,’ said Hassan. ‘But currently we have no grounds to sus
pect…’
‘They were the same height!’ Lelle interrupted. ‘To the millimetre!’
He heard how he sounded, but couldn’t stop himself.
‘This case has a completely different set of circumstances,’ Hassan said. ‘Everything points to her boyfriend.’
Lelle gave a frustrated laugh. There was a bitter taste on his tongue.
‘When Lina disappeared you accused me of all people, and where did that lead?’
‘Just calm down, Lelle.’
‘I am calm! I only want to make sure the police are doing their damned job. I don’t know whether you’ve noticed, but the girl’s description is practically identical to Lina’s. And both of them disappeared near the Silver Road. Do you think that sounds like chance?’
‘It’s too early to say and I don’t want to speculate. She’s barely been gone two days. There’s still a good chance we’ll find her.’
Lelle put his hand to his face and noticed his cheeks were wet. ‘You won’t find her.’
‘I really hope you’re wrong.’
‘So do I.’
Meja was alone when she woke up with the smell of Carl-Johan still on the sheets. The clock radio on the bedside table said 6.30. She wondered if he always got up this early. Dark wooden shutters kept the light out and she squinted in the darkness to find her clothes and her mobile. The battery was dead. Posters of fighter aircraft of various types covered the walls. Meja put on her jeans and T-shirt. An old typewriter sat on a desk by the window. She stroked the black keys with her finger, stopping at the letter C.
‘You’re awake.’
Carl-Johan stood in the doorway. The light was behind him and she couldn’t see his face, apart from his smile. He came into the room and held her tightly. The smell of hay and animals clung to his clothes and his hair was dripping.
‘Did you sleep OK?’
‘It’s so lovely and dark in here.’
Carl-Johan walked over to one of the windows and opened the shutters to let in the daylight. Meja squinted.
The Silver Road Page 10
