49
Mike rang and said it was an emergency, asked if he could come. And Gosta of course made the time.
‘Tell me,’ he said, and Mike told him about the mysterious visit.
Gosta listened and smiled in amusement, and Mike grew more and more uncertain.
‘What is it?’ he said, feeling like a child who was being indulged.
‘I thought it was something serious,’ Gosta said.
‘But, Jesus, it is serious.’
‘No,’ Gosta countered, ‘it’s not serious. How are things with Nour?’
‘Good, good. What do you mean, it’s not serious?’
‘I thought your love life was falling to bits,’ Gosta said. ‘But this is no more than a wasp at a picnic. Annoying, yes, and difficult to brush off, but you’re still having a picnic.’
Mike allowed himself to be calmed, and, after a while, he laughed too.
‘But you must admit, it is strange.’
‘What? That some old school friends have died of cancer or in an accident? You said yourself that Ylva had never mentioned them. Can hardly have been close friends. So, what have we got? Three people who have died, who all went to the same relatively big school. I don’t see what the issue is.’
‘They were in the same class,’ Mike said. ‘And the guy too. The one who came to see me.’
Gosta didn’t say anything.
‘Should I go to the police?’ Mike asked.
‘What for?’
‘To report him. Next time he might touch up Sanna.’
Gosta lifted his eyes to the ceiling, clenched his lips and rolled his head backwards and forwards while he thought.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Do you think there’s any real danger?’
‘Nothing direct,’ Mike said. ‘Hard to say. But I would never forgive myself if something happened to her.’
Gosta leaned across the desk.
‘What did you say he was called?’
‘Calle Collin.’
‘Have you googled him?’
‘He’s written articles for a number of papers and publications, nothing weird.’
‘You said that he was working for
‘What was he called? Calle …?’
Marianne looked impatiently through her daughter’s old yearbook. She ran her finger down the list of names.
‘Calle, Calle, Calle. Jonsson?’
‘No, Collin,’ Gosta corrected.
‘Here,’ she said, and read out: ‘Third from left, second row. There.’
She studied the photograph, looked doubtful, shrugged.
‘I would never have recognised him,’ she said.
The doorbell rang. Gosta leaned forward, looked out through the window and saw that it was Mike.
‘Jesus, it’s him.’
‘Well, go and open the door then,’ Marianne hissed.
Closing the door to the cellar, to be on the safe side, Gosta made his way to the front door. He opened it, feigning surprise. Mike was standing there with a bottle in his hand.
‘A symbol of my gratitude,’ he said.
‘Oh, you shouldn’t have. There was really no need.’
‘Yes, you’ve meant an enormous amount to me. I don’t know how I would have managed without your help.’
Gosta took the bottle, looked at the label and raised his eyebrows in appreciation.
‘Goodness. Well, thank you very, very much. This is more than enough, but thank you. I would ask you in, but now’s not really a good time.’
‘No, no, don’t worry, I have to go home and rustle up some food for Sanna,’ Mike said. ‘I just wanted to give you that, no more.’
‘Thank you,’ Gosta said again.
‘No, it’s me who should thank you.’
Mike gave a wave and left. Gosta closed the door and went back to his wife in the kitchen.
‘He recognised me,’ she said, and tapped her finger on the photograph in the school yearbook. ‘I don’t think he managed to place me, but when he does, he’ll no doubt put two and two together.’
‘Relax. Why do you want to believe it’s worse than it is? First of all, why should he recognise you? How many of your school friends’ parents would you recognise? And you didn’t recognise him.’
‘No, but that’s because he was a child then and now he’s an adult. I’m sure we’ve changed a lot too, but not in the same way.’
Gosta sighed.
‘And even if he did recognise you, why would he make the connection with Ylva? There’s no reason. Besides, Mike threw him out. It’s not very likely that Calle Collin will contact him again.’
‘Perhaps not, but there’s a risk.’
Marianne took a deep breath.
‘Gosta, it’s time. She has to go. If she doesn’t do it herself, you’ll have to help her.’
Ylva saw it all on screen.
Mike strode over towards the house where she was, a bottle of wine in his hand. Soon after, he left again, empty-handed.
The camera didn’t cover the area outside the front door, but it didn’t require much imagination to guess what had happened. Mike had come to give them a bottle of wine. Which confirmed what Gosta had said: that he and Mike were close, that Gosta had Mike’s ear.
The wine was obviously a thank you for his help. For listening to Mike, even though it happened to be his job. That was the way it worked in the suburbs, a bottle of wine in return for a friendly gesture. Between neighbours.
Ylva wondered what it would mean for her. What dangers it might entail. Gosta and Marianne could not, under any circumstances, entertain in their house. Anyone who crossed the threshold was a risk to them. They had to keep their distance from any neighbours who tried to get closer; they could greet them cheerily but no more than that.
Gosta’s interest in her had waned, Ylva was very aware of that. She knew that the day he no longer wanted her, she was lost.
Ylva tried to moan with more feeling and to reinvent herself in every thinkable way, but still Gosta seemed to be bored. It was really only when he took her with force that he managed to muster the same interest that he’d shown in her for the first six months.
50
