Mildred just happens to know that Lisa works as a debt counselor and budgeting advisor for the council. Mildred wants Lisa to run a course for these women. So they can get their private finances sorted out.
Lisa wants to say no. Say that she doesn’t actually care about people. That she cares about her dogs, cats, goats, sheep, lambs. The female elk that turned up the winter before last, thin as a rake, so she fed her and looked after her.
“They won’t turn up,” Lisa replies.
She clips Bruno’s last claw. He gets a pat and disappears to join the rest of the gang in the hall. Lisa gets up.
“They’ll say ‘yeah, yeah, brilliant’ when you invite them,” she goes on. “But they won’t turn up.”
“We’ll see,” says Mildred, narrowing her eyes. Then her little lingonberry mouth widens into a smile. A row of tiny teeth, like a child’s.
Lisa goes weak at the knees, looks away, says “okay, I’ll do it” just to get rid of the priest before she collapses completely.
Three weeks later Lisa is standing in front of a group of women, talking. Drawing on a whiteboard. Circles and pieces of pie, red, green and blue. Glances at Mildred, hardly dares look at her. Looks at the rest of her audience instead. They’ve got dressed up, God help us. Cheap blouses. Bobbly cardigans. Gold colored costume jewelry. Most of them are listening obediently. Others are staring at Lisa, almost with hatred in their eyes, as if the way their lives have turned out might be her fault.
Gradually she’s drawn into other projects with the women’s group. She just gets carried along. She even attends the Bible study group for a while. But in the end it just doesn’t work anymore. She can’t look at Mildred, because it feels as if the others can read her face like an open book. She can’t avoid looking at her the whole time, that’s just as obvious. She doesn’t know where to turn. Doesn’t hear what they’re talking about. Drops her pen and makes a fuss. In the end she stops going.
She keeps away from the women’s group. Her restlessness is like an incurable illness. She wakes up in the middle of the night. Thinks about the priest all the time. She starts running. Mile after mile. Along the roads at first. Then the ground dries out and she can run in the forest. She goes to Norway and buys another dog, a Springer spaniel. It keeps her busy. She renews the putty in all the windows and doesn’t borrow the rotovator from her neighbor for the potato patch as she usually does, but turns it over by hand instead during the light May evenings. Sometimes she thinks she can hear the telephone ringing in the house, but she doesn’t answer it.
“Can I have the picture, Nalle?” said Lisa, trying to make her voice sound neutral.
Nalle was holding on to the picture with both hands. His smile went from one ear to the other.
“Illred,” he said. “Swinging.”
Lisa stared at him, took the picture off him.
“Yes, that’s right,” she said in the end.
She spoke to Rebecka, a little too quickly, but Rebecka didn’t appear to notice anything:
“Nalle was confirmed by Mildred. And her confirmation classes were quite… unconventional. She understood that he was a child, so there was plenty of playing on the swings and boat trips and eating pizza. Isn’t that right, Nalle, you and Mildred, you used to have pizza. Quattro Stagione, wasn’t it?”
“He had three helpings of meat soup today,” said Rebecka.
Nalle left them and set off toward the henhouse. Rebecka shouted a good-bye after him, but he didn’t seem to hear.
Lisa didn’t seem to hear either when Rebecka said good-bye and went off to her chalet. Answered distractedly, staring after Nalle.
Lisa padded after Nalle like a fox stalking its prey. The henhouse was at the back of the bar.
She thought about what he’d said when he saw the picture of Mildred.
“Illred. Swinging.” But Nalle didn’t go on the swings. She’d like to see the swing he could fit into. So they can’t have gone to the playground together to go on the swings.
Nalle opened the henhouse door. He usually collected the eggs for Mimmi.
“Nalle,” said Lisa, trying to attract his attention. “Nalle, did you see Mildred swinging?”
He pointed above his head with his hand.
“Swinging,” he replied.
She followed him inside. He stuck his hand under the hens and collected the eggs they were sitting on. Laughed when they pecked angrily at his hand.
“Was she high up? Was it Mildred?”
“Illred,” said Nalle.
He stuffed the eggs in his pockets and went out.
My God, thought Lisa. What am I doing? He just repeats whatever I say.
“Did you see the space rocket?” she asked, making a flying movement with her hand. “Whoosh!”
“Whoosh!” smiled Nalle, taking an egg out of his pocket with a sweeping movement.
Out on the road Lars-Gunnar’s car stopped, and the horn sounded.
“Your daddy,” said Lisa.
She raised a hand and waved to Lars-Gunnar. She could feel how stiff and awkward it was. Her body betrayed her. It was completely impossible for her to meet his eyes or even exchange a word.
She stayed behind the bar as Nalle hurried off toward the car.
Don’t think about it, she said to herself. Mildred’s dead. Nothing can change that.
Anki Lindmark lived in an apartment on the second floor at Kyrkogatan 21D. She opened the door when Anna- Maria rang the bell, and peered over the security chain. She was in her thirties, maybe a bit younger. She’d bleached her hair herself, and the roots were showing. She was wearing a long sweater and a denim skirt. As Anna-Maria looked at her through the narrow opening, it struck her that the woman was quite tall, at least half a head taller than her ex-husband. Anna-Maria introduced herself.
“Are you Magnus Lindmark’s ex?” she asked.
“What’s he done?” asked Anki Lindmark.
Suddenly the eyes behind the security chain widened.
“Is it to do with the boys?”
“No,” said Anna-Maria. “I just want to ask a few questions. It won’t take long.”
Anki Lindmark let her in, put the chain back on and locked the door.
They went into the kitchen. It was clean and tidy. Porridge oats, O’Boy drinking chocolate powder and sugar in Tupperware containers on the worktop. A little cloth covering the microwave. On the windowsill stood wooden tulips in a vase, a glass bird, and a little miniature cart made of wood. Children’s drawings were fastened to the refrigerator and freezer with magnets. Proper curtains with tiebacks, a pelmet and frilled edges.
At the kitchen table sat a woman in her sixties. She had carrot-colored hair and was staring angrily at Anna- Maria. Shook a menthol cigarette out of its packet and lit up.
“My mother,” explained Anki Lindmark when they’d sat down.
“Where are the children?” asked Anna-Maria.
“At my sister’s. It’s their cousin’s birthday today.”
“Your ex-husband, Magnus Lindmark…” Anna-Maria began.
When Anki Lindmark’s mother heard her former son-in-law’s name she blew out a cloud of smoke like a snort.
“… he’s said himself that he hated Mildred Nilsson,” Anna-Maria went on.
Anki Lindmark nodded.
“He caused damage to her property,” said Anna-Maria.
The next second she could have bitten off her tongue. “Caused damage to her property,” what kind of official jargon was that? It was the smoking carrot-woman’s narrow eyes that were making her be so formal.
