by Lars Kepler
“I didn’t know I was alive,” whispered Benjamin.
Then he’d heard Marek threaten his parents. And he realized he was staring at a key in the ignition of the bus, and without even thinking, he’d clambered over the seat and turned it. And the headlights had come on, and the engine had roared furiously as he headed for the spot where he thought Marek was.
Benjamin stopped speaking, a few fat tears caught in his eyelashes.
Chapter 110
thursday, december 24: afternoon
After two days in the hospital at Umeå, Benjamin was strong enough to walk. He went with Erik and Simone to see Joona Linna, who was in the post-operative ward. His thigh had been badly damaged by Marek’s attack with the scissors, but three weeks’ rest would probably lead to a full recovery. A beautiful woman with her hair in a soft braid over her shoulder was sitting with him, reading aloud from a book, when they walked in. Putting it down, she rose and introduced herself as Disa, a friend of Joona’s for many years.
“We have a reading group, so of course I have to make sure he keeps up,” she said, in the same pleasing dialect as Joona’s.
Simone saw that she was reading Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse.
“Mountain Rescue has lent me a small apartment,” said Disa with a smile.
“And you,” said Joona. “You’ll be given a police escort from Arlanda.”
Simone and Erik declined the offer. They wanted to be alone with their son rather than spend time with more police officers.
When Benjamin was discharged on the fourth day, Simone immediately booked tickets for the flight home. She went to get coffee for them all, but for the first time the hospital cafeteria was closed. In the day room there was nothing but a jug of apple juice and some biscuits. She went out in search of a café, but everything seemed strangely deserted. There was a peaceful calm over the whole town. She stopped by a railway line and followed the gleaming track with her eyes, seeing the snow covering the embankment. Far away in the darkness she could just make out the wide River Ume, striped with white ice and black water.
Only now did something inside her begin to relax. It was over. They had got Benjamin back.
Now they are standing uncertainly outside the Birger Jarl Hotel in Stockholm. Benjamin is wearing a tracksuit from the police Lost and Found that is far too big for him, a woolly hat— of the Sami tourist variety— that Simone bought for him at the airport, and a pair of mittens that are slightly too small. The city is deserted, with not a soul in sight. The underground station is closed, there are no buses, the restaurants are dark and silent.
Erik looks at his watch, perplexed. It’s four o’clock in the afternoon. A woman hurries along, carrying a large bag.
“It’s Christmas Eve,” Simone says suddenly. “Today is Christmas Eve.”
Benjamin looks at her in surprise.
“That would explain why people keep wishing us a Merry Christmas,” says Erik with a smile.
“What shall we do?” Benjamin asks.
“McDonald’s is open,” Erik says.
“Are you suggesting we have Christmas dinner at McDonald’s?” asks Simone.
A thin freezing rain begins to fall on them as they hurry towards the restaurant. It’s an ugly, squat building, pressing itself to the ground beneath the ochre-coloured rotunda of the library. A woman in her sixties is standing behind the counter. There are no other customers to be seen.
“I’d like a glass of wine,” says Simone. “But I guess that’s out of the question.”
“How about a milkshake?” says Erik.
“Vanilla, strawberry, or chocolate?” the woman asks sourly.
Simone looks as if she’s about to burst out laughing, but she pulls herself together. “Strawberry, of course.”
“Me too,” Benjamin chips in.
The woman taps in their order with small, angry movements. “Will that be all?” she asks.
“Get a selection,” Simone says to Erik. “We’ll go and sit down.” She and Benjamin thread their way among the empty tables. “A table by the window,” she whispers, smiling at Benjamin.
She sits down next to her son, puts her arm around him, and feels the tears running down her cheeks. Outside, a lone skateboarder whizzes along between the patches of ice with harsh scraping, rattling noises. A woman is sitting on her own on a bench on the edge of the playground behind the School of Economics, an empty shopping trolley beside her. The tyre seats on the children’s swings are blowing back and forth in the wind.
“Are you cold?” she asks.
Benjamin doesn’t reply; he just rests his face against her chest, allowing her to kiss his head over and over again.
Erik puts a tray down on the table and returns to the counter to fetch another before sitting down and beginning to distribute cartons, paper bags, and drinks around the table. “When you eat at McDonald’s, you need to go all the way.”
“Nice,” says Benjamin, sitting up.
“Wait,” Erik says. He holds out a Happy Meal toy. “Merry Christmas,” he says.
“Thanks, Dad.” Benjamin grins, looking at the plastic packaging.
Simone looks at her child. He’s lost so much weight. But there’s something else, she thinks. It’s as if he still has a weight within him, something that is pulling at his thoughts, worrying him and dragging him down. He’s not really with them; his gaze is turned inwards.
When she sees Erik reach out and pat his son on the cheek, she begins to cry again. She turns away with a whispered apology and sees a plastic bag whisked out of a rubbish bin by the wind and pressed against the window.
“Come on, dig in,” Erik says.
Benjamin is unwrapping a Big Mac when Erik’s phone rings. It’s Joona.
“Merry Christmas, Joona,” he says.
“Same to you, Erik,” says Joona. “Are you back in Stockholm?”
“We’re actually having Christmas dinner right now.”
“Do you remember I said we would find your son?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“You had your doubts from time to time.”
“Yes,” says Erik. “I admit it.”
“But I knew it would all work out,” Joona goes on.
“I didn’t.”
“I know, I noticed,” says Joona. “That’s why there’s something I need to say to you.”
“Yes?”
“What did I tell you?” asks Joona.
“What?”
“I was right, wasn’t I?”
“Yes, you were right,” Erik replies.
“Merry Christmas,” says Joona, ending the call.
Erik stares at the phone with a surprised expression, then turns to Simone. He looks at her transparent skin and wide mouth. Webs of worry lines have appeared around her eyes lately. She smiles at him, and he follows her gaze as she looks at Benjamin.
Erik watches his son for a long time. His throat aches with love. Benjamin is eating French fries, his expression serious. He has disappeared into his thoughts. His eyes stare vacantly, as if he has been sucked into his memories and the spaces between them. Erik reaches out with his uninjured arm, squeezes his son’s fingers, and sees him look up.
“Merry Christmas, Dad,” says Benjamin with a smile. “Here, have some fries.”
“What about taking some of this food over to see Granddad?” Erik suggests.
“Are you serious?” asks Simone.
“How much fun is it being in the hospital at Christmas?”
Simone smiles at him and calls for a taxi. Benjamin goes over to the counter for a bag to put the food in.
As their taxi slowly drives past Odenplan, Erik sees his family reflected in the window, superimposed over the enormous decorated Christmas tree in the square. They slip past the branches as if they were dancing together around it. There it stands, tall and wide, hundreds of tiny glowing lights curling up towards the bright shining star.
Copyright
This novel is entirely a work of fict
ion.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Blue Door
1
Copyright © Lars Kepler 2009
English translation © Ann Long 2010
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Lars Kepler assert the moral right to be identified as the authors of this work A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978-0-00-735910-3 (hardback)
ISBN: 978-0-00-735911-0 (trade paperback)
EPub Edition © 2011 ISBN: 9780007412457
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