The Gang of Four. As if they were a group of nonconformists in monk cowls who spoke in tongues and were blood brothers.

They weren’t that bad. And, anyway, the group kind of disintegrated halfway through Class Nine and formed new alliances and constellations.

Typical of Jorgen to give them a name. The Gang of Four.

He had always overdramatised things as a child. But maybe that was the secret behind his success, that he was not blinded by detail, that he could still see the woods despite the trees.

That was the last thought that went through Calle’s head before he happily fell asleep.

13

‘Where’s Mummy?’

Mike opened his eyes and blinked furiously. Sanna was standing by the bed in her pyjamas. He turned over and saw that Ylva’s side of the bed was empty and untouched. No one had slept there.

‘I don’t know, sweetie. What time is it?’

He reached over for his watch.

‘Eight zero seven,’ Sanna read on the radio-clock and jumped up on to the bed. ‘Has Mummy not come home?’

‘I don’t know, doesn’t look like it. Maybe she stayed over with one of her friends. Maybe it was late and she couldn’t get a taxi.’

‘Aren’t you going to ring her?’

‘Not quite yet. If they were late last night, she’ll still be asleep.’

‘What if she’s not sleeping?’

Which was precisely what Mike was trying to avoid thinking, but his brain didn’t care about him, and images rolled in front of his eyes: Ylva dressed in yesterday’s party clothes walking from the bus stop, possibly barefoot, holding her heels in her hands. She stops in front of the door, looks down kind of ashamed for a second before plucking up the courage and saying: Mike, we have to talk.

That’s how he envisaged it, even though she hadn’t been wearing high heels or a sexy dress.

Mike sat up.

‘She’ll be asleep. Are you hungry?’

Sanna nodded with big, exaggerated movements as she leapt out of bed.

‘Sugar puffs!’

‘Okay, sugar puffs. But you have to eat some bread too.’

Mike put on the coffee and went to get the paper, doing all the things that might be expected of a man who wasn’t terrified by the thought that his wife might have left him. He phoned her repeatedly. Her mobile was switched off and went straight to voicemail. Mike left a message.

‘Where are you? I’m starting to get worried. Sanna too. Please call us.’

The second time: ‘Why the hell is your mobile turned off? That’s such a shitty thing to do. Not that I give a damn where you are.’

Breakfast, reading the paper, checking the evening papers online, nothing fast-forwarded the time to nine o’clock, when Mike could reasonably phone someone without appearing to be desperate. Nine o’clock on the dot was perhaps pushing his luck, so he decided to finish reading an article that he hadn’t managed to get through the first time around.

He had almost finished when Sanna asked him to help her look for a film she couldn’t find. By eleven minutes past nine, they had found the film and put it on, and Mike went out into the kitchen and phoned Nour.

Nour was Ylva’s closest friend at work. Mike had only met her once, but immediately liked her. She had bright eyes and a smile that wasn’t false.

‘Hasn’t she come home?’ Nour asked.

‘She said she was going out with you,’ Mike said.

Nour didn’t say anything for a beat, as if she was thinking about what she should say, and then realised that she couldn’t lie.

‘She told us that she was going home,’ she said, eventually. ‘Have you tried her mobile?’

‘It’s turned off.’

Nour could hear the suspicion in Mike’s voice.

‘Well, I’ve no idea then,’ she said, and changed tack. ‘I hope nothing’s happened. Have you tried the hospital?’

‘Wouldn’t they have called me?’

Nour conceded.

‘So, she said she was going home?’ Mike repeated.

He immediately regretted his words, which sounded formal and accusing.

‘Yes.’

‘Did she say how she was going to get home?’

‘By bus, I presume. We were out on the street and she walked off down the hill.’

‘On her own?’

‘Yes. We tried to persuade her to come with us, but she said she wanted to go home.’

‘Okay, well, thanks for that.’

‘Ask her to give me a call when she shows up,’ Nour said.

‘Of course,’ Mike replied. ‘We’ll be in touch. Bye now.’

Ylva watched Mike collect the newspaper on the TV screen. She saw her husband come out in his dressing gown and get the newspaper from the postbox, as if nothing had happened.

What was he thinking? That she’d screwed someone, or crashed on a friend’s sofa?

He must have phoned and tried to find out.

She caught a movement behind the sitting-room window. Mike had just gone in through the front door, so it must be Sanna. Ylva’s daughter was so close and yet she couldn’t go there.

Ylva twisted herself up off the bed. Her body ached and she smelled bad. She had pissed on the bed after he raped her, just lay there and let it run out. She hadn’t showered, refused to, didn’t want to think about using anything in this prison where she was being kept. That would mean accepting, giving in. And anyway, she would need to be examined by a doctor so the rape could be verified.

She went over to the door, balled her hands, shouted and hammered on it.

The noise she managed to create was muffled, as if the door was padded on the outside. But you should still be able to hear it on the other side, she thought.

A weapon. She needed to defend herself.

Ylva went through the drawers in the kitchenette. Plastic cutlery, a butter knife, cheese slicer, chopping boards, a roll of plastic bags. No knives, no metal cutlery, not even a tin opener. The cupboard over the sink was empty, except for a packet of crispbread and a stack of white plastic cups.

She searched the bathroom and found hand towels, soap and shampoo, laundry detergent, a hairbrush, lubricant and an emery board. Nothing that could be used. She went back out into the room and looked around.

The chair.

One of the legs could be used as a weapon, if she managed to break up the chair. She could swing it at them when they came in.

She got a firm hold of the back of the chair and smashed it against the wall. She repeated the procedure until one of the legs snapped, then she kicked it loose from the rest of the chair.

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