Текст книги "Still Waters"

Автор книги: Viveca Sten

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

THURSDAY, THE SECOND WEEK

CHAPTER 11

As was often the case, Kicki Berggren was sitting at the computer. She had bought it secondhand on an auction website, and although it was a few years old, it worked perfectly. Kicki enjoyed being online. She could spend hours on Facebook and Twitter at night; it helped her relax when she came home from the casino.

Even if she was sometimes so tired that she could hardly stand up, she rarely felt sleepy when she finally got home after a long shift at the blackjack table. Her brain, which had been on high alert in order to keep the cards running all evening, couldn’t be fooled into relaxing right away, so she would sit down at the computer to wind down. Sometimes she would check out celebrity websites, just so she could dream about a life full of possibilities.

She went to the website for Waxholmsbolaget, the ferry company. She clicked on the “Boat Schedule” link and selected Sandhamn as the destination, bringing up the timetable.

On Fridays there was a boat every two hours. You could catch a bus from Slussen out to Stavsnäs at ten after eleven; the next boat arrived in Sandhamn just after one. She could be there in a couple of hours.

She started thinking about the letter again. It had been on her mind all week. The knowledge that was the key to the future.

Would she really have the courage to make use of it?

With Krister gone, she was the only one left, and this was her only chance. And she was certain the law was on her side.

As she lit another cigarette, she made a decision. She would go to Sandhamn the following day. She didn’t have to go back to work until after the weekend, so if she went over there tomorrow, she could stay until Sunday if she liked. That should give her enough time.

FRIDAY, THE SECOND WEEK

CHAPTER 12

The ferry was nearly bursting. It was the height of the summer season, and the tourists had completely taken over. Families carrying packs of Wet-Naps, retirees with their picnic baskets, people heading to their summer cottages with one load after another.

Kicki had never seen so many IKEA bags. It seemed as if the entire population of the archipelago had decided to move all their possessions in the big blue bags. In the luggage area, potted plants shared space with overfilled sacks from the discount food store, bicycles, and strollers.

With some difficulty she managed to find a seat out on deck. There was a slight breeze, but compared with the oppressive heat inside, it was sheer paradise. She flopped down with a sigh and lit a cigarette. She gazed out over Stavsnäs, the central point for traffic serving the southern islands. The white boats were lined up by the dock. Over by the gas station, a long line snaked toward the kiosk selling hot dogs and ice cream. Her stomach growled, and she wished she had bought something to eat.

In her peripheral vision she noticed yet another packed red bus pulling in at the stop; the passengers hurried toward the boats as soon as they got off.

To think that there were so many people heading for the archipelago at the same time!

When the boat docked at Sandhamn, it took forever for people to disembark. Slowly the line of passengers edged onto the deck and down the gangplank. Kicki handed over her ticket and hesitantly stepped ashore among the local residents who were meeting friends and relatives off the boat.

In one corner of the pier, a truck was busy moving cases of food and alcohol piled high on top of one another. There were people everywhere, and beyond the jetty the harbor was busy with yachts and motorboats. Countless children raced around clutching ice cream cones. The whole island seemed to be buzzing with life.

Kicki went over to the bulletin board at the back of the pier and stood there for a moment to get her bearings. She realized the harbor was lovely now that she had time to look at it properly. Directly in front of her was a long two-story building painted Falu red, with a clothes shop on the left-hand side. The sign on the awning said “Sommarboden—Everything You Need for Sunny Summer Days!”

To the left she saw the promenade, leading to the Royal Swedish Yacht Club’s clubhouse. She had read about it in one of the gossip magazines; they had held a huge ball there after some sailing competition. It had been attended by the king and queen, she seemed to remember, and Princess Victoria, too.

Between the pier and the clubhouse she could see rows of boats of all types and sizes packed close together. To the right, the harbor curved in a semicircle, lined with shops and restaurants. The far end was dominated by a large yellow building that proclaimed it was the Sandhamn Inn; various signs indicated that it offered a bar, a restaurant, takeout, and outdoor seating.

Kicki decided to find somewhere to stay the night. She went over to the kiosk to buy cigarettes. As the girl handed over the pack of Princes, Kicki asked where she might find a room that wasn’t too expensive. She didn’t want to pay a ridiculous amount for only one night.

“The Mission House,” the blond teenager said. “They’re a bed-and-breakfast. It’s OK. And the breakfast is great. Otherwise it’s really hard to find somewhere that doesn’t cost a fortune. The Seglarhotell costs the same as hotels in the middle of Stockholm. Although it’s really nice, of course.”

Kicki smiled at the girl, who leaned out and pointed toward the grocery store Kicki had noticed earlier.

“It’s about five hundred yards; it’ll only take you five minutes to get there,” she said.

Kicki picked up her bag and set off. Her sandals were immediately covered. There was sand and gravel everywhere on this island.

CHAPTER 13

“Get a move on, Henrik!” Nora yelled up the stairs. “They’ll be here soon, and we haven’t even scrubbed the potatoes yet!”

It was Friday evening, and they had invited two local couples to dinner, along with Thomas. Nora had wondered whether to invite a single female as well, but somehow it didn’t feel right. Since Thomas and his wife, Pernilla, had divorced during the winter, unable to find their way back to each other after the loss of their daughter, Thomas hadn’t so much as looked at another woman, let alone attempted a new relationship.

Nora shuddered as she thought about Thomas and little Emily. It had been dreadful. One minute they had a wonderful three-month-old girl; the next minute she was gone.

Emily had passed away in her sleep.

When Pernilla woke up in the morning, her breasts were sore because she hadn’t fed the baby during the night. The child had been lying there cold and lifeless in the Moses basket by her side. Both parents had been devastated, but it was worse for Pernilla because she felt so guilty.

“I was so tired,” she had sobbed. “I slept right through instead of taking care of her. If I’d woken up, she might still be alive. A good mother would have sensed something was wrong.”

In the end, her self-reproach and guilt had broken the marriage. Thomas sought solace in his work, but Pernilla was unable to find any comfort. The separation had been inevitable.

Nora had tried to provide support as best she could, but it was impossible to get through to Thomas. He became silent, introverted. He withdrew to Harö and cut himself off.

It wasn’t until the beginning of the summer that Nora began to feel she was getting back the old Thomas, her childhood friend with his tousled blond hair. But now she could see fine lines around the corners of his eyes, and his hair was peppered with gray. There was a shadow in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“What do you want me to do?”

Henrik had crept up behind her. Nora turned and smiled. He was in a good mood; this was going to be a great evening. She pushed aside thoughts of her in-laws, who were due to arrive on Monday.

“Well, you could boil the potatoes, smoke the perch, pick some salad leaves, and make some vanilla sauce to go with the rhubarb crumble. Is that OK?” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and handed him the bag of potatoes and a brush. “Oh, and if you could repaint the roof and build a fence before our guests arrive, that would be great!”

Henrik laughed. He was a very sociable person and enjoyed having guests. Nobody could mingle at a cocktail party like Henrik. When they had first met, Nora had been impressed by this aspect of his character; she was much less outgoing. Henrik was always ready to accept an invitation or invite friends over in the spur of the moment. As the only child of a diplomat, he was comfortable participating in a wide range of events and switching on the charm.

Nora, who preferred cozy evenings at home, had gradually begun to protest. She didn’t mind the odd guest, but sometimes it was nice just to be alone as a family, particularly when the children were small and she was worn out from feeding them and getting up during the night; all she wanted to do was curl up on the sofa in front of the TV.

But Henrik had often insisted. What could be nicer than spending time with friends, he used to say. We can invite a few people. Just one or two. Come on. It’s no big deal.

That made Nora feel dull and boring, a real party pooper. There was no point in discussing it with him; he just wouldn’t listen. So she usually tried to make an effort in order to keep the peace, and she generally enjoyed the company in the end.

Tonight he was in fine form.

“I might not manage that, but if I pour you a glass of wine before I start, perhaps you’ll forgive me if I only get through half?” he said, winking at Nora.

He opened the fridge and took out a bottle of Chardonnay. He poured two glasses and handed one to Nora, then found a bowl and a cutting board, ready to start on the potatoes.

Meanwhile, Nora set the table. They had decided to eat in the garden in order to enjoy the fine evening. She would be serving a mustard sauce along with the perch fillets, together with home-baked rustic baguettes with an herb butter. She had picked some rhubarb earlier and had made an old-fashioned crumble, using her grandmother’s recipe.

It was going to be a lovely dinner.

By the time Kicki found her way back to the Mission House, she was still shaken. Her body was aching with tension, as if she had run a marathon.

She tried to stop thinking about the icy voice that had asked her whether she had really thought about what she was demanding. And what the consequences might be.

Kicki clamped her lips together. She had decided she wasn’t going to let herself be scared off.

If life had been kinder to her, she might not have been standing here, but she had learned a long time ago that there was no point in crying over spilled milk. She loathed the helplessness that came with a lack of money. She despised the fact that she always had to smile and make herself available every evening in the casino, never making a fuss about the drunken clients who were only too happy to paw her with their sweaty hands. She yearned for something else, for another life with different opportunities.

A life that was so close right now that she could almost taste it.

She had only asked for what she was entitled to. Nothing more, nothing less. She knew what she knew, and tomorrow she would go back, and they would reach an agreement. This wasn’t over, not by any means.

She took an angry drag on her cigarette. She’d had to use three matches to light it. She wasn’t allowed to smoke in her room, but she couldn’t care less. With a resolute expression she tried to push away the image of herself she had seen reflected in the eyes of the person who was gazing at her.

A middle-aged woman whose jeans were too tight and whose hair was too long; the color could no longer hide the strands of gray. A woman who was trying to look thirty-five, when in reality she was almost fifteen years older.

Everything reminded her of the fact that she was one of the oldest in her profession, a croupier who could be the mother of the girls at the roulette table. Colleagues who made it very clear that this was something they intended to do for only a few years. You couldn’t waste any more of your life on drunken bastards who gambled away more money than they dared tell their wives about.

She’d had no problem finding her way to the Mission House, which was just past the yellow Sandhamn Värdshus. It had taken five minutes, perhaps even less. Just as the girl in the kiosk had said.

The manager made it very clear that she was lucky to get a room without having booked in advance. A last-minute cancellation freed one of the five rooms, so all she had to do was check in.

Kicki was given the key and went up to the room, which was on the second floor. It was tastefully decorated in an old-fashioned style, with lace curtains. She unpacked the few things she had brought with her, then lay down on the bed to try to gather her thoughts. She had repeatedly gone over what she was going to say. Even though she had decided to take the step, she was nervous and anxious about what was to come.

When she was ready to leave she asked the manager for directions, but she was new to the island and couldn’t help. Kicki wasn’t worried; she was bound to find the place. The island wasn’t that big.

But it wasn’t as easy as she’d expected. Eventually a teenage girl outside the bakery told her which way to go; by then it was already three o’clock.

She knocked on the door, and after a long time, when she was at the point of walking away, it opened. She gave her name and was admitted to the house. It was obvious that she was neither welcome nor expected.

After she explained her errand, there was complete silence. The owner of the house stared at her coldly for a long time before eventually looking away. The gray eyes gave no hint of a reaction to her demand. Instead, silence closed over the room like a lid; the atmosphere became oppressive, suffocating.

Kicki swallowed a couple of times and licked her lips. For a moment she wondered if she had gone too far. The unfamiliar environment was making her uncomfortable. The decor was definitely not to her taste; it was like being a visitor in another world.

Then she thought about her cousin.

“Krister’s dead, and I want my share!”

She kept her eyes fixed firmly forward, determined not to sound nervous or to show her unease. She clenched one fist so tightly that the nails cut into her skin; the pain made her blink, but she tried not to let it show.

Her host suddenly stood up. The movement was so unexpected that Kicki gave a start.

“There’s no need for us to fall out over this. Let me get you something to drink, then we can have a chat.”

Kicki was left alone in the living room. She could hear the sound of cupboard doors opening in the kitchen, the clink of cups and saucers being placed on a tray. She glanced around the room, which was next door to a spacious dining room containing a huge table. She counted a dozen chairs around the table, with four more standing against the walls. The sea view was fantastic. You could almost touch the water.

When she looked up, she was faced once more with that searching expression in those gray eyes.

“Tea?”

She was offered a cup filled to the brim.

CHAPTER 14

The sight that met Thomas’s gaze in the bathroom mirror was a weary, exhausted man. It definitely didn’t look like someone who was due to join the Linde family soon for a pleasant evening.

He had come out to Harö just after six. He was due at Nora’s in an hour, but before that he needed to shave and shower.

Thomas’s house was on one side of northern Harö. His parents had bought the place back in the fifties, long before owning a cottage in the archipelago became so popular. A few years ago they had given their two sons each a part of the land.

There had been an old barn on Thomas’s section. It was pretty dilapidated, but it was in a beautiful location right by the water, with a huge weeping birch beside it. Pernilla and Thomas took on the barn and put a lot of time and effort into transforming it into a proper summer home. A home that was perfect for a family.

By the time they had finished, the old barn had become a wonderful house with big windows and an open-plan interior. They had built a large loft bedroom to make full use of the high ceiling. From the front door, a narrow gravel path led down to the jetty, which they had extended so there was room to sit on summer evenings.

The house swallowed up all their spare time and money, but the result was exactly what they were hoping for.

Then they split up.

They had hardly even managed one whole summer there before they went their separate ways.

Since the property had belonged to Thomas’s parents, the decision was obvious. Pernilla kept the apartment in town, and Thomas kept Harö. It was neat and tidy and entirely logical.

And heartbreaking.

After the divorce he had found a two-room apartment in Gustavsberg. It was practical and functional and only twenty minutes away from work, but it wasn’t a home. If anywhere, it was only on Harö that he felt at home these days.

He got his razor and shaving cream out of the medicine cabinet and ran hot water in the sink.

He hadn’t the slightest desire to get in the boat and head over to Sandhamn. But Nora had invited him weeks ago, and he didn’t want to disappoint her. Especially on such short notice.

“Come on, Thomas,” she had said to him. “It’ll do you good to get out and about. You can’t just work or bury yourself on Harö. You need to start seeing people again.”

She was right, of course. But it was so difficult.

He sank down on the toilet seat with the razor in his hand. Sometimes he felt as if he didn’t have the strength to take one more step.

The last fifteen months had been the worst of his life. He wouldn’t wish them on his worst enemy. Nights plagued by bad dreams about Emily and his inability to save her life. Days when he could hardly bring himself to go into work because he was afraid of breaking down in front of his colleagues. The gradual disintegration of his marriage, which he had been powerless to prevent.

Since the divorce had been finalized six months ago, he had avoided social gatherings. There had been no need for the company of others, just a deep desire to be left alone and in peace.

He had devoted almost all his waking hours to work. He had no idea how many late nights he had stayed at the station. But there was something restful about the dark corridors when everyone else had gone home. The emptiness appealed to him. He enjoyed sitting at his desk in silence.

Work had been his lifeline.

Without his colleagues, he doubted whether he would have made it. Getting up every morning had been a real struggle, yet he had taken on as much work as he possibly could. Volunteered for just about everything. Sat there for hours dealing with tasks that weren’t part of his job.

As if every fresh case he solved helped him to rebuild his life, little by little.

Gradually it had begun to hurt less, but the pain was replaced by weariness. It overwhelmed him. Thomas was so exhausted he didn’t know what to do with himself. He could cope with the days, but by the evening he was spent.

He had slept more during the past six months than in his entire life. All he wanted to do at night was to go to bed and sink into oblivion, escape from his life. It was as if he couldn’t get enough unconsciousness.

It wasn’t until the light began to return in April that he started to regain some of his old energy. He was able to rest in those long, light, late spring evenings. To his surprise he found he was breathing more easily.

But the distance between the professional police officer who conscientiously did his job and the private individual who merely wanted to be left in peace had not diminished.

He sat there in the bathroom trying to gather his strength. The dinner party would be starting soon. He stood up and applied the shaving cream to his face. With a determined smile at his reflection, he began to scrape the razor firmly down his cheek.

Kicki Berggren looked around the harbor, which was now half in shadow. The unpleasant taste of the tea she had been given lingered in her mouth. She hadn’t even been offered a cup of coffee—just that revolting tea.

She had tried to rest in her room for a while, but she had been far too wound up, and after an hour she gave up. She picked up her jacket and walked down to the harbor; she needed something to drink. Something strong. And something to eat would be good. She crept down the stairs to avoid the manager, who was a bit of a busybody. She couldn’t deal with her chatter now; she had enough to think about.

The Divers Bar looked nice, but when she got closer she could see that all the seats outside were occupied by younger people. Girls in low-cut tops and oversize shades were sitting there with boys who had greasy, slicked-back hair and red shorts. Rosé wine was obviously cool at the moment; there was a big silver wine cooler on every table, labeled “Think pink, drink pink.”

Her own opinion of rosé was based on her experiences of Mateus Rosé, which had been the drink of choice in every backyard when she was in high school. It hadn’t tasted good then, and it was unlikely that it would taste good now. And she’d had more than enough of spoiled, drunk teenagers on Kos. She didn’t need that here.

She looked around for an alternative.

Sandhamn Värdshus, at the far end of the harbor, looked considerably more inviting. She headed for the area marked “Bar.”

When she opened the door it seemed quite gloomy, but then her eyes adjusted to the subdued lighting, and she could see that she was in a large room with dark wood paneling on the walls and a cozy atmosphere.

A young man with long blond hair in a ponytail was standing behind the bar, taking an order. The long tables were occupied by a handful of people with half-empty glasses in front of them. The place was almost empty, but then a dark bar probably wasn’t the first place the tourists in their summery clothes would go on a lovely evening like this.

Through the window she could see a line of people patiently waiting for a table outside, but sitting indoors suited her perfectly. She needed to be alone for a while, and she wanted something to eat so she could get rid of the disgusting taste in her mouth.

A blackboard on the wall listed the daily specials. Everything looked appealing, and she settled on bubble and squeak with a beer.

She carried her glass over to a corner table far from the bar. She took off her jacket and placed it on the chair next to her, then dug a comb and mirror out of her purse. She dragged the comb through her long hair, then tucked it in the breast pocket of her jacket. Without thinking, she took out her cigarettes, then remembered that people were no longer allowed to smoke indoors in Sweden.

From the corner of her eye she saw a man walk in and order a beer at the bar. He picked up his glass and made his way over to her part of the room.

She automatically smiled at him. Years of welcoming strangers to the tables in the casino evoked the upward curve of her lips without a second’s hesitation.

The man looked pretty good, around forty. Slim build, faded blue T-shirt and jeans, sneakers. His hair needed cutting, but at least it looked clean.

Suddenly she felt the need for some company. As their eyes met she moistened her lips and opened her mouth.

“You’re welcome to sit here,” she said, pointing to the chair opposite her. She smiled as he sat down.

“Do you live here?” she asked.

He looked up from his beer and nodded. “Mmm, I’ve got a house on the island.”

“A summer cottage?”

“No, I live here all the time. I was born on Sandhamn. I’ve lived here all my life,” he said, raising the glass to his mouth.

Kicki edged a little closer. “I’m Kicki.”

“Jonny.” He held out his hand for a second, then changed his mind and nodded instead.

“What do you do?” Kicki asked.

“This and that. I’m a carpenter, but I do a bit of painting as well. I do all kinds of jobs for the summer visitors.”

He took a swig of his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. As he put the glass down some of the liquid spilled over onto the table, but it didn’t seem to bother him.

“What kind of things do you paint?” Kicki was interested. She needed a diversion for a little while, and she was curious about life on the island.

“All kinds of things. Mostly nature.” He gave an embarrassed laugh, then took a pencil out of his back pocket and reached for a napkin that was lying on the table. With rapid strokes he drew Kicki in profile. It was no more than a few lines, yet the likeness was striking. He had managed to capture both her features and her expression in seconds.

He pushed the drawing over to her.

“There you go.”

“Impressive,” Kicki said. “Do you do this all the time?”

“Not exactly. I spend most of my time doing carpentry in the summer. There’s always something that needs fixing, and when people are on vacation, they don’t want to do it themselves. They also pay well—cash, of course, but that’s fine. Nobody needs to bother with a receipt, do they?” He underlined his words with a wry smile.

A blond waitress arrived with Kicki’s food. She put the plate down on the table and handed over a knife and fork wrapped in a napkin. The food looked delicious, with a fried egg on the side and a generous serving of beetroot. The waitress picked up Kicki’s glass with a practiced movement and smiled at them.

“Can I get you anything else?”

Kicki looked at her companion. He seemed nice. A bit shy, but interesting. There was something puppyish about him, which appealed to her.

She leaned forward, pushing back a strand of hair as she winked at him. “How about buying me a beer? Then you can tell me what people get up to on Sandhamn on a Friday night in the middle of summer. This is my first visit.”