The Hidden Child

by Camilla Lackberg

  ‘The owner of the house?’ asked Gösta.

  Mellberg shrugged. ‘That’s all I know. I told the boys to stay there. We’ll drive over right now. Martin, you and Paula take one car; Gösta and I will take the other.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we call Patrik?’ asked Gösta cautiously.

  ‘Who’s Patrik?’ asked Paula, looking from Gösta to Mellberg.

  ‘Patrik Hedström,’ explained Martin. ‘He works here too, but he’s on paternity leave, starting today.’

  ‘Why on earth should we ring Hedström?’ said Mellberg with a scornful snort. ‘I’m here,’ he added pompously, setting off at a trot towards the garage.

  ‘Yippee,’ muttered Martin when Mellberg was out of earshot. Paula raised her eyebrows quizzically. ‘Oh, never mind,’ said Martin apologetically, but he couldn’t resist adding, ‘You’ll understand soon enough.’

  Paula was still looking bewildered, but she let it go. She’d suss out the workplace dynamics soon enough.

  Erica sighed. It was quiet in the house now. Too quiet. For a year her ears had been attuned to the slightest whimper or cry. But now it was totally and completely quiet. The cursor was blinking in her Word document. In half an hour she hadn’t typed a single letter. Her brain was becalmed. So far she’d paged through her notes and looked at the articles that she’d copied during the summer. After sending several letters, she’d finally managed to get an appointment with the central figure in the case – the murderer – but that was still three weeks away. Until then she’d have to make do with the archival material. The problem was, she couldn’t think how to begin. The words weren’t exactly tumbling into place, and now doubt had set in. The doubt that authors always had to contend with. Were there any words left? Had she written her last sentence, used up her quota? Did she have any more books in her at all? Logic told her that she almost always felt this way on starting a new book, but that didn’t help. It was a form of torture, a process that she had to go through each time. Almost like giving birth. But today she felt especially sluggish.

  She absently popped a Dumlekola chocolate caramel in her mouth to console herself as she eyed the notebooks lying on the desk next to the computer. Her mother’s fluid script was clamouring for her attention. She was torn between fear of looking at what her mother had written and curiosity about what she might find. Slowly she reached for the first notebook. She weighed it in her hand. It was thin, rather like the small notebooks used in elementary school. Erica ran her fingers over the cover. The name had been written with a pen, but the years had made the blue ink fade considerably. Elsy Moström. That was her mother’s maiden name. She’d taken the surname Falck when she married Erica’s father. Slowly Erica opened the notebook. The pages had thin blue lines. At the top was the date: 3 September 1943. She read the first sentence:

  Will this war never end?

  Chapter 2

  Fjällbacka 1943

  Will this war never end?

  Elsy chewed the end of her pen, wondering what to write next. How could she put into words her thoughts on this war that didn’t involve her own country and yet did? It felt strange to be writing a diary. She didn’t know where she’d got the idea, but it was as if she felt the need to formulate all her thoughts about the life she was living, which was both familiar and unfamiliar.

  In some ways she could hardly remember a time before the war. She was thirteen, soon to be fourteen; she’d been only nine when war broke out. During the first years, they hadn’t noticed much difference, although the grown-ups seemed to pay more attention to things, developing a sudden interest in the news, both in the papers and on the radio. When they sat listening to the radio in the living room, they seemed nervous, scared, but also oddly excited. In spite of everything, what was happening in the world was exciting – menacing, but exciting. Otherwise life seemed much the same. The boats went out to sea and came back home again. Sometimes the catch was good. Sometimes it wasn’t. On land, the women went about their daily chores – the same chores that their mothers had tended to, and their grandmothers too. Children had to be born, clothes had to be washed, and houses had to be cleaned. It was a never-ending cycle, but the war was now threatening to upset these familiar routines and their everyday reality. Ever since she was a child, she’d been aware of this underlying tension. And now the war was almost upon them.

  ‘Elsy?’ She heard her mother calling from downstairs. Quickly she closed her notebook and put it in the top drawer of her little desk next to the window. She’d spent so many hours sitting there and doing her homework, but now her school days were over, and she really had no need for the desk any more. She got up, smoothed the skirt of her dress, and went down to find her mother.

  ‘Elsy, could you help me get water?’ Her mother’s face looked tired and grey. They’d spent the whole summer living in the small room in the basement while they rented out the rest of the house to summer visitors. In return for the rent payments, they had to clean, cook, and wait on their lodgers – a lawyer from Göteborg, with his wife and three rambunctious children – and they’d been very demanding. Elsy’s mother, Hilma, had been kept running all day and well into the evening, doing the laundry, packing picnic baskets for their boating excursions, and tidying up after them in the house. At the same time, she’d had her own household chores to do.

  ‘Sit down and rest for a moment, Mamma,’ said Elsy gently, hesitantly placing her hand on her mother’s shoulder. Hilma flinched at the touch. Neither of them was used to any sort of physical contact, but after a slight pause, she put her own hand over her daughter’s and gratefully sank down on to a chair.

  ‘It was certainly about time for them to leave. I’ve never met such demanding people. “Hilma, would you please . . . Hilma, would you mind . . . Hilma, could you possibly . . .”’ She mimicked their cultured tones but then put her hand over her mouth in alarm. It wasn’t customary to show such disrespect for wealthy people. It was important to know one’s place.

  ‘I can understand why you’re tired. They weren’t easy to deal with.’ Elsy poured the last of the water into a saucepan and set it on the stove. When the water boiled, she stirred in some coffee substitute and put a cup on the table for Hilma and one for herself.

  ‘I’ll get more water in a minute, Mamma, but first we’re going to have some coffee.’

  ‘You’re a good girl.’ Hilma took a sip of the wretched ersatz brew. On special occasions she liked to drink her coffee from the saucer, holding a lump of sugar between her teeth. But nowadays sugar was scarce, and besides, it wasn’t really the same thing with ersatz coffee.

  ‘Did Pappa say when he’d be back?’ Elsy lowered her eyes. In wartime this question was more charged than it used to be. It wasn’t long ago that the Öckerö had been torpedoed and sunk with the entire crew on board. Since that incident, a fateful tone had slipped into the farewells before every new departure. But the work had to be done. No one had a choice. Cargo had to be delivered, and fish had to be caught. That was their life, whether there was a war on or not. They should be grateful at least that the cargo-boat traffic back and forth to Norway had been allowed to continue. It was also considered safer than the safe-conduct traffic that was carried on outside of the blockade. The boats from Fjällbacka could continue fishing, and even though the catch was smaller than before, they could supplement their income with transports to and from the Norwegian harbours. Elsy’s father often brought home ice from Norway; if he was lucky, he also carried cargo on his way over there.

  ‘I just wish . . .’ Hilma fell silent, but then went on. ‘I just wish that he’d be a little more cautious.’

  ‘Who? Pappa?’ said Elsy, even though she knew quite well who her mother was talking about.

  ‘Yes.’ Hilma grimaced as she took another sip of the coffee. ‘He has the doctor’s son with him on this trip, and . . . well, it’s bound to end badly, that’s all I can say.’

  ‘Axel is a brave boy; he’ll do what he can. And I’m sure Pappa will he
lp out as best he can.’

  ‘But the risks,’ said Hilma, shaking her head. ‘The risks he takes when that boy and his friends are along . . . I can’t help thinking that he’s going to drag your father and the others into some sort of danger.’

  ‘We have to do what we can to help the Norwegians,’ said Elsy quietly. ‘Just think if we’d ended up in their position. Then we’d be the ones needing help from them. Axel and his friends are doing a lot of good.’

  ‘Let’s not talk about it any more. Are you ever going to get the water?’ Hilma sounded cross as she stood up and went over to the sink to rinse out her coffee cup. But Elsy wasn’t offended. She knew that her mother was acting annoyed because she was so worried.

  With one last look at her mother’s back, prematurely stooped, Elsy picked up the bucket and went out to get water from the well.

  Chapter 3

  To his surprise, Patrik enjoyed taking walks. He hadn’t had much time for working out the past few years, but if he could take a long walk every day while he was on paternity leave, he might be able to rid himself of the paunch he was starting to get. The fact that Erica had cut back on sweets at home was also having its effect, helping him to shed a few pounds.

  He passed the petrol station and continued at a brisk pace along the road heading south. Maja was sitting in her push-chair, facing forward and babbling happily. She loved being outside and greeted everyone they met with a gleeful ‘Hi’ and a big smile. She was truly a little sunbeam, although she could also show a real mischievous streak when she set her mind to it. She must get that from Erica’s side of the family, thought Patrik.

  As they continued along the road, he felt more and more satisfied with his life. He was looking forward to a new daily routine, and it was good to have the house to themselves at last. Not that he didn’t like Anna and her kids, but it had been rather trying to live under the same roof month after month. Now there remained only the issue of his mother to contend with. He always felt caught in the middle between Erica and his mother. Of course he understood Erica’s irritation at his mother’s habit of rattling off criticisms about their parenting skills every time she came to visit. Still, he wished Erica would do as he did and just turn a deaf ear to whatever his mother said. She could also show a little sympathy; Kristina lived alone, after all, with little to occupy her time other than her son and his family. His sister Lotta lived in Göteborg and even though that wasn’t so far away, it was still easier for Kristina to visit Patrik and Erica. And she was actually a big help sometimes. He and Erica had been able to go out to dinner on a couple of occasions while Kristina babysat, and. . . well, he just wished that Erica could see the positive side more often.

  ‘Look, look!’ said Maja excitedly, pointing her finger as they passed the Rimfaxe horses grazing in the pasture. They stopped a moment to watch; Patrik wasn’t particularly fond of the creatures, but he had to admit that Fjord horses actually were quite lovely, and they looked relatively harmless. He reminded himself to bring some apples and carrots next time. After Maja had seen her fill of the horses, they set off on the last leg of their route to the mill, where they would turn to go back towards Fjällbacka.

  As they came in sight of the church tower looming over the crest of the hill, he suddenly caught sight of a familiar car. No blue lights flashing or siren wailing, so it couldn’t be an emergency situation, but he still felt his pulse quicken. No sooner had the first police car come over the hill than he saw the second one close behind. Patrik frowned. Both vehicles; that meant it must be something serious. He started waving when the first car was about a hundred metres away. It slowed down, and Patrik went over to talk to Martin, who was sitting behind the wheel. Maja eagerly waved both arms. In her world, it was always fun when something happened.

  ‘Hi, Hedström. Out for a walk?’ said Martin, waving to Maja.

  ‘Well, a guy has to keep in shape . . . What’s going on?’ The second police car came up behind and stopped. Patrik waved to Bertil and Gösta.

  ‘Hi, I’m Paula Morales.’ Only now did Patrik notice the woman in the police uniform sitting next to Martin. He shook hands with her and introduced himself, and then Martin answered his question.

  ‘We’ve had a report of a dead body. Right near here.’

  ‘Do you suspect foul play?’ Patrik asked with a frown.

  Martin shrugged. ‘We don’t know anything yet. Two kids found the body and called us.’ The police car behind them honked, which made Maja jump in her pushchair.

  ‘Hey, Patrik,’ said Martin hastily. ‘Couldn’t you hop in and come along? I’m not feeling very comfortable with . . . you know who.’ Martin motioned towards the other car.

  ‘I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,’ said Patrik. ‘I’ve got my little girl with me . . . and officially I’m on leave, you know.’

  ‘Please,’ said Martin, tilting his head. ‘Just come along and take a look. I’ll run you home afterwards. There’s room for the pushchair in the boot.’

  ‘But you don’t have an infant seat in the car.’

  ‘Oh, you’re right. Well, how about if you walk over to the place? It’s just around the corner. The first street to the right, second house on the left-hand side. It says “Frankel” on the letter box.’

  Patrik hesitated, but another honk from the second police car prompted him to make up his mind.

  ‘Okay, I’ll wander over, just to take a look. But you’ll have to watch Maja while I go inside. And not a word to Erica about this. She’d be furious if she found out that I took Maja to a possible crime scene.’

  ‘I promise,’ said Martin, winking. He waved to Bertil and Gösta and shifted into first. ‘See you there.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Patrik, with a strong feeling that this was something he was going to regret. But curiosity won out over his instinct for self-preservation; he turned the pushchair around and began swiftly heading for Hamburgsund.

  ‘Everything made of pine has to go!’ Anna was standing with her hands on her hips, trying for as stern an expression as she could muster.

  ‘What’s wrong with pine?’ said Dan, scratching his head.

  ‘It’s ugly! How can you even ask such a question?’ said Anna, but she couldn’t help laughing. ‘Don’t look so scared, love . . . But I really am going to have to insist. There’s nothing uglier than furniture made of pine. And that bed is the worst of all. Besides, I don’t want to go on sleeping in the same bed that you shared with Pernilla. I can live in the same house, but I can’t sleep in the same bed.’

  ‘That’s something I can understand. But it’s going to be expensive to buy a lot of new furniture.’ He looked worried. When he and Anna became a couple, he’d abandoned plans to sell the house, but it was still proving difficult to make ends meet.

  ‘I have the cash that I got from Erica when she bought my share of our parents’ house. Let’s use some of it to buy new things. We can do it together, or you can give me free rein – if you dare.’

  ‘Believe me, I’d rather not make decisions about furniture,’ said Dan. ‘As long as it’s not too outrageous, you can buy whatever the heck you want. Enough talk, come over here and give me a hug.’

  As usual, things started to get hot and heavy, and Dan was just unhooking Anna’s bra when someone pulled open the front door and came in. Since there was a good view of the kitchen from the hall, there was no question of what was going on.

  ‘Jesus, how disgusting! I can’t believe you’re actually making out in the kitchen!’ Belinda stormed past and made for her room, her face bright red with fury. At the top of the stairs she stopped and shouted:

  ‘I’m going back to live with Mamma as soon as I can – do you hear me? At least there I won’t have to watch the two of you sticking your tongues down each other’s throats all the time! It’s gross! Do you hear me?’

  Bang! The door to Belinda’s room slammed shut, and they heard the key turn. A second later the music started up, so loud that it made the plates on the count
er jump and clatter to the beat.

  ‘Oops,’ said Dan with a wry expression as he looked up at the ceiling.

  ‘Yes, “oops” is the right word for it,’ Anna said, pulling out of his arms. ‘This really isn’t easy for her.’ She picked up the clinking plates and put them in the sink.

  ‘I know, but she’s just going to have to accept that I have a new woman in my life,’ said Dan, sounding annoyed.

  ‘Just try and put yourself in her position. First you and Pernilla get divorced, then a whole lot of . . .’ – she weighed her words carefully – ‘girlfriends come waltzing through here, and then I appear on the scene and move in with two little kids. Belinda is barely seventeen, which is tough enough, without having to get used to three strangers moving in.’

  ‘You’re right, I know that,’ said Dan with a sigh. ‘But I have no idea how to deal with a teenager. I mean, should I just leave her alone, or will that make her feel neglected? Or should I insist on talking to her and then risk having her think I’m pressuring her? There should be a manual for situations like this.’

  Anna laughed. ‘I think they forgot about handing out manuals back in the maternity ward. But you could try talking to her. If she slams the door in your face, at least you’ve given it a try. And then you should try again. And again. She’s afraid of losing you. She’s afraid of losing the right to be a child. She’s afraid that we’re going to take over everything now that we’ve moved in. And that’s perfectly understandable.’

  ‘What did I do to deserve such a wise woman?’ said Dan, pulling Anna close again.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Anna, smiling as she burrowed her face into his chest. ‘Mind you, I’m not particularly wise. It just seems that way, compared to your previous conquests.’

  ‘Hey, watch out,’ said Dan with a laugh as he wrapped his arms tighter around her. ‘If you keep that up, I might decide to hang on to the pine bed after all.’