‘I see.’ The policeman wrote something on the pad. ‘And you don’t have any enemies? Anyone who might have wanted to set fire to your car?’
‘Not that I know of.’
The policeman makes a note of her name, address and ID number. When he’s done, the hi-vis man with the torch comes over to her. ‘OK, we’ve got the all-clear to go back inside again. We really are extremely sorry about this . . .’
Isak appears at her side. He kept out of the way while she was talking to the police officer. ‘So what do the cops say?’
They start walking towards the entrance to the motel.
‘He just took my details. Asked if I’d been having any trouble with the car.’
‘OK. Well, I suppose in a way it’s lucky it happened here and not on the motorway.’
She nods. Her paralysing tiredness from earlier in the evening has returned. She should really be feeling upset about her car, but right now all she feels is exhausted and empty.
‘What are you going to do now? How are you going to get home to Stockholm?’
She shrugs. ‘I suppose I’ll get the bus into town tomorrow, then the train from there.’
‘Maybe we could keep each other company?’
Before she has time to answer he stops outside the door to her room. It’s standing ajar, and the frame right next to the lock is splintered. They look at each other. He shoves the door open. Her clothes are strewn across the bed. She digs through them, then checks the outer pocket of her case.
‘Fuck!’
Isak rushes out into the corridor and comes back shortly afterwards. ‘My room’s been ransacked as well. Wallet, keys, mobile – all gone.’
Chapter 58
W
hen it gets to half past seven in the morning she gives up and calls Mattias. She’s been thinking it over from every angle, and has concluded that she doesn’t have a choice.
The police have been back, the same officer she spoke to before about the fire. He concluded that a total of four rooms along that corridor had been broken into, and that she and Isak weren’t the only people who have lost belongings. That’s no help to her. She’s got no money, no bank card, and no car. She can’t even pay for the night in the motel. She can’t call her dad, not after his outburst yesterday, and she can’t remember Lidija’s number. And they’re not really that close friends anyway. Which leaves Mattias.
He’s not answering his mobile, and she doesn’t feel up to phoning him at home and having to talk to Cecilia. So she settles down in reception with a complimentary cup of coffee and tries to figure out what to do.
‘Vera, are you OK?’ she suddenly hears a voice say.
She looks up. It’s Patrik Brink, Uncle Harald’s dogsbody and her own teenage conquest. Dark work trousers, flannel shirt, trucker’s cap, just like last time. But at least he’s not smirking this time.
‘Sure, why?’
‘I was driving past. Recognised your car.’
He gestures over his shoulder with his thumb towards the car park, where her burned-out car is still standing. The firemen moved it away from the building, leaving it right by the entrance.
‘What’s happened?’ He sounds concerned, as if he actually cares about her. So she tells him about the fire and burglary.
‘Bloody hell,’ he says when she’s finished. ‘So now you’re stuck here?’
‘Yes, looks like it.’
‘Have you called Harald?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
She sighs. She hasn’t got a good answer. Because they don’t have that sort of uncle-niece relationship is the best she can come up with.
‘Wait here!’ He goes out to his pick-up, sits in the driver’s seat and pulls out his phone. She watches him talk for a couple of minutes, then he comes back.
‘Get your things.’
‘Hang on a minute . . .’
Patrik has already gone over to the reception desk and is saying something to the receptionist that Veronica can’t hear. Isak appears out of nowhere, shaking his head.
‘I haven’t managed to get hold of anyone who can help us,’ he says. ‘How about you?’
Patrik comes back and stops in front of them.
‘Is he with you?’
She looks at Isak, and can’t help seeing how uncomfortable he looks. She thinks for a few seconds.
‘Yes, he is,’ she says eventually.
‘OK,’ Patrik says. ‘Go and get your stuff and we’ll get out of here.’
*
The four guest cabins are red with white eaves and windows, and are laid out on the grass right behind one of the big barns at Ängsgården. There are cars with Polish plates parked beside three of them, but the fourth is evidently empty. Patrik unlocks it and shows them round. Two rooms with bunk beds, a bathroom with a shower, and a living area with a television. Clean, pleasant, functional.
‘Here.’ He hands her the key. ‘You can stay as long as you want. There’s no phone, but my office is over there if you need to call your insurance company and so on.’ He points towards one of the old stable blocks which have been turned into offices. ‘There are a couple of cars up there as well, if you need to borrow one.’
She doesn’t quite know what to say, but manages to come out with ‘thanks’, and ‘this is really kind of you’.
‘No problem. You have to help old friends out, don’t you?’
She’s expecting a mocking smile, but he looks perfectly serious.
‘Harald’s away sorting some things out, but he’ll be back in a couple of hours. He’d like to see you, if you’ve got time?’
The words are phrased as a polite question, but of course she has to say yes.
‘Well, I guess that’s everything. I hope you’ll be happy here in our little camp. The Poles can be a bit noisy sometimes at weekends, but they’re not too bad. Just shout if there’s anything else you need.’
He winks at her, nods at Isak, then leaves them alone.
‘Nice guy,’ Isak mutters as Patrik drives off towards the office. ‘Known him long?’
‘Since I was little,’ she says, lying down on one of the lower bunks. ‘Patrik’s dad was my uncle’s foreman once upon a time. And now he’s taken over the job. My brother’s also married to his cousin, so we’re practically related.’
Isak puts his bag in the other bedroom. ‘You uncle seems to be involved in an awful lot of things.’
‘Hmm,’ she murmurs, and closes her eyes.
*
It’s afternoon by the time she walks up towards the main house. Just before lunch she used the phone in Patrik’s office to talk to her insurance company and bank. She’s booked a locksmith to change the locks on the door of her flat. But first she needs to get home. And to do that she needs to talk to Uncle Harald. She’s prepared carefully, going through all the possible scenarios in her head, and promising herself that she won’t get angry and will play the grateful niece.
She walks past the four hyper-modern cowsheds, breathing in the sweet, unmistakeable smell of cow, made even stronger by the still, warm air between the buildings. She walks round the vast green machine store, which looks like an aircraft hangar. She can’t help but be impressed by what Uncle Harald has achieved. Haulage, machinery, farming and forestry, hunting trips, properties and wind turbines. And presumably even more that she doesn’t know about.
Ängsgården was big even in her grandfather’s day, but now it’s by far the biggest farm in the area. Six shimmering silver towers loom above the roofs, twice as high as the old silo she and Mattias once climbed up. The handsome, whitewashed main house, three storeys and four chimneys, has been extended and now resembles a small manor house. As she gets closer she hears laughter and the whirr of an engine. Uncle Harald’s Land Rover is parked right in front of the house with a trailer behind it, and there’s a ramp leading down from the trailer. Uncle Harald, Tess and Patrik are standing watching Tim drive round and round the gravel on a motorised mini-tractor
painted in the colours of Aronsson Farming. The wheels are kicking up stones and the boy is roaring with laughter. Uncle Harald is laughing as well, but Tess looks worried, and keeps telling Tim to be careful. Patrik is standing a few metres away, off to one side behind Uncle Harald and Tess. He’s looking between the boy and his mother. Then he catches sight of Veronica.
‘Good, eh?’ Uncle Harald says, pointing at the little tractor. ‘Picked it up from Eslöv this morning. Special order.’
‘It’s great.’ She stops next to him and pretends to admire the boy’s driving.
‘I heard what happened to you last night.’ Uncle Harald is still watching his son. ‘What a business. Are you OK?’
‘Hmm.’ The concern in his voice surprises her, and helps stifle the anger she always feels in his presence.
‘Why didn’t you call your father?’
She shakes her head. ‘Bad time.’
‘Have the two of you had a row?’
To keep things simple she decides not to answer.
‘Ebbe can be very stubborn. A family trait, wouldn’t you say?’ Uncle Harald gives her a wry smile, and to her surprise she finds herself smiling back.
Tim corners so tightly that the tractor tips onto two wheels, making his mother cry out in horror. Uncle Harald just laughs.
‘Look, Vera! Five years old and already driving like a pro! Not scared of anything. Reminds me of you when you were a child.’
She murmurs something like agreement. Patrik has gone over to Tess. He talks to her, then waves Tim over and helps the boy to switch the engine off.
‘Bravo, Tim!’ Uncle Harald applauds. Then he turns to her and takes a bulky wallet from his back pocket.
‘How much do you need?’
‘Look, I’m really grateful for all your help, but . . .’
‘Stop that,’ he says, cutting off her obligatory protest. ‘When you were little you and I were best friends, weren’t we? Up until you were a teenager, anyway.’
She doesn’t answer.
‘Maybe we’re just too alike,’ Uncle Harald goes on. ‘The same way your mother and I were. Just as stubborn as each other.’
He falls silent, then looks down and starts to leaf through the notes in his wallet.
‘Will five thousand be enough?’
‘I’ll pay you back as soon as I’ve got hold of a new bank card,’ she says, a little too quickly.
‘No need.’ His usually hard eyes seem to have softened slightly.
She takes the notes and tucks them away in her back pocket. It’s easier than she imagined.
Over by the large garage Patrik is helping Tim to park the tractor next to Tess’s silver Mercedes.
‘Well, perhaps I should . . .’ Veronica gestures over her shoulder. ‘Thanks again for everything. I really appreciate it.’
‘I’m just glad I could help.’
She nods, and takes a couple of steps before it comes:
‘By the way, could I ask a favour in return?’
Veronica stops. She’s been through this scenario as well, but for a brief moment she actually believed that Uncle Harald was helping her out of the goodness of his heart.
‘Sure.’ She forces herself to smile, and waits for the predictable request. The wind farm, planning permission, her dad’s signature. Not that she knows how Uncle Harald imagines she’s going to be able to arrange that when she and her dad aren’t speaking.
‘The whole village is going to be at the harvest festival in the park tomorrow evening. It would make me really happy if the whole family was there. I think your father would appreciate it as well.’
She has no option but to say she’ll go, and in a way she likes the fact that he asked. She even feels happy about it. But at the same time she can’t shake off the feeling that some sort of catastrophe is brewing.
Darling,
I can’t look them in the eye anymore. They’re so dishonest. Pretending their consciences are clear, that they have the right to judge anyone who’s different. I hate them all, for forcing us to hide, to keep our love hidden, clutching it so tightly to our chests that it couldn’t breathe.
We suffocated our love, killed the most beautiful part of us. Perhaps I tried too hard, perhaps you didn’t try hard enough. Perhaps it was doomed from the very start.
But I know that everything has its time, and now our time has come. It’s time to reap what we once sowed.
Chapter 59
T
hey head over to Lidija’s dad’s pizzeria and each order a large pizza, which neither of them manages to finish even though they’re both starving. They’ve hardly spoken to each other all day, only about practical things, like what and where they’re going to eat. Staying on safe territory.
‘What happened yesterday . . .’ Veronica says.
Isak looks up. The bruise her fist left on his cheek has already started to turn yellow round the edges. He shrugs his shoulders. ‘Yesterday was yesterday.’
He smiles, and she realises that she still likes his smile, even though he’s been lying to her, manipulating her.
‘So this was where Sailor used to hang out?’ he says. ‘Because they didn’t want him in the village pub. Because everyone thought he was involved in Billy’s disappearance.’
‘Hmm.’ She takes a sip from her glass of Coke.
Isak is silent for a few seconds. ‘What do you think really happened? To Billy? Now that you know I’m . . .’ He stops and looks embarrassed, as if he regrets raising the subject.
She puts her glass down. She’d really prefer not to say any more about it, but it’s a reasonable question. And she wants to find the answer, not least for her own sake. What does she think really happened?
She briefly wonders if she trusts him enough to reply to his question, and comes to the conclusion that she does, in spite of everything. Somehow it feels as if the previous night has reset their relationship. Besides, what she thinks is hardly a secret anymore.
‘The only thing left is the original explanation,’ she says. ‘That Tommy Rooth kidnapped him to get money out of my uncle. Something went wrong and Billy died. Rooth fled the country. Went off to sea and never came back.’
Isak frowns, evidently not quite satisfied with the answer.
‘That sounds logical, but there’s one thing I can’t quite ignore.’
‘What?’
‘Tommy Rooth left his family, a wife and two children. As far as anyone knows, he never contacted them again. Was he really that type?’
She wipes her mouth with one of the pizzeria’s cheap paper napkins.
‘People say he was.’
‘So why didn’t he take off earlier? When he lost the hunting licence the previous autumn and realised he wasn’t going to be able to keep hold of the farm or support his family. Why commit a serious crime to get money if he didn’t actually care about them anyway?’
‘Hmm. Maybe he wanted more money before he left.’
Isak shakes his head. ‘I don’t believe that. Rooth wasn’t popular around here, but he did seem to care about his family. So why suddenly leave them in the lurch?’
‘Why does anyone do anything? Your adoptive father, for instance, he abandoned his family too.’
‘True.’ Isak leans forward across the table. ‘But he went on paying maintenance. And he did call from time to time, birthdays, Christmas. He didn’t just go up in smoke.’
She looks at him. There’s something about the look on his face that she doesn’t like. Something that troubles her somehow.
‘I don’t think we’ll ever know what he was thinking,’ she says, and looks at the clock on the wall. ‘Your bus leaves in five minutes.’
*
The car she’s borrowed from Patrik is a green pick-up that appears to be brand new. It’s an automatic, and full of buttons and controls. There’s even a screen set into the dashboard to tell her she’s at Reftinge bus station, in case she hadn’t noticed.
She finds a parking space and s
witches the engine off. She feels in her pocket and pulls out two of Uncle Harald’s five-hundred-kronor notes. ‘Here.’
‘No, you’ve already paid for the bus ticket. I’ll manage.’
‘Don’t be silly. Take it.’
Isak hesitates a couple more seconds, then puts the money in his jeans pocket. He doesn’t seem to know what to say.
‘OK, well, goodbye, then!’
He jumps out, lights a cigarette. Slings his bag nonchalantly over his shoulder and begins walking towards the yellow bus that’s waiting at the stop. He turns and waves before climbing in.
As she sits there, the feeling she had in the pizzeria keeps on getting stronger. It isn’t until the bus has pulled away and disappeared round the corner that she manages to put it into words. Isak is keeping something from her, something he’s either unwilling or unable to tell her. It’s probably about the break-in at her flat and what happened in the garden the other night. That would at least be logical. Even so, she doesn’t quite manage to persuade herself. She thinks about what Månsson said about there being some important pieces of the puzzle missing, and she can’t shake the feeling that Isak is holding on to one of them.
*
She meets Mattias’s police jeep on the drive leading to Uncle Harald’s farm. He stops alongside her and winds his window down.
‘I heard about happened last night. Are you OK?’ His tone is curt, formal.
‘Absolutely.’
‘Good. And you’ve got everything you need?’
‘Yes. Uncle Harald has been very helpful.’
A strange silence arises. The only sound is the car engines idling in neutral.
‘So what were you doing here?’ She nods towards the farm.
‘Oh, just talking to Uncle Harald about something.’
‘The wind farm?’
He snorts and shakes his head. ‘I’m glad you’re OK, Vera. I need to get going . . .’ He starts to wind his window up.
‘See you tomorrow evening,’ she calls out. He responds with a strained smile.
Chapter 60
T
he park was laid out in the early 1900s. An open-air stage, a covered rotunda for dancing and a large party venue. August Palm is supposed to have given a speech there once, but no one knows exactly when.
End of Summer Page 27
