He had to turn back, groping his way through the smoke until he found himself back in the room with the burning bed. As he turned around he felt a cooling breeze against his face, and saw that one of the windows was half-open, letting in the light. The curtains were open and a wooden chair stood below the window.
He could get to the window if he stayed on the left, where the air was a little cooler. But the flames from the bed were creeping across the floor and the smoke was growing thicker.
He could no longer breathe, he had to get out, fast.
He took three steps towards the window, climbed up on the chair and looked out. He could see fields and dense forest. And two or three metres below this was the garage, with a tarred felt roof.
The cool of the evening struck his chest and face while the heat of the fire pressed against his back, pushing him out of the room. It was like standing with his back towards the oven in a crematorium. He couldn’t stay where he was, and eventually he stepped out into the air and jumped.
He landed on the garage roof with a crash; the wood shuddered beneath his feet, but it held.
From the garage he jumped down on to the gravel. Three metres – a short, dizzying fall, with the grey gravel coming closer and closer – and then his shoes hit the ground. His knees gave way.
He coughed, got to his feet and inhaled the cold, fresh air. He was at the back of the house and could see a low fence in front of him, with a deserted field of yellow grass beyond it, then the dense forest of firs.
On a track leading between the trees, perhaps two hundred metres away, someone was standing staring at the house. Per thought it looked like a man dressed in dark clothes, but he had no time to see anything else before the figure turned and disappeared into the forest.
The fire had begun to crackle and roar above him, but he thought he heard the sound of a car engine. A car starting up, its engine revving as it quickly disappeared among the trees.
14
When the windows of Jerry’s house began to shatter with the heat of the fire, raining down like shards of ice, Per was suddenly overcome by nausea, even though he was quite safe on the far side of the drive. He kept drawing deep breaths of cold air into his lungs, painfully dry from the effects of the smoke; he rubbed his smarting eyes and tried to stand up straight.
Black smoke billowed out through the gaping windows, whirling around the house like a thick shroud. No one could have survived in there.
A veil seemed to fall between Per and the rest of the world, and he could hear the sound of sirens in the distance. What had he actually seen with his tear-filled eyes? A body on a bed and someone fleeing into the forest? The more he tried to remember, the more unclear the images became.
The sirens were getting closer. Two fire engines, their blue lights flashing, turned into the drive and stopped in front of the house. The fire-fighters leapt out, dressed in black protective suits.
Per moved backwards across the gravel. He bumped into something solid, turned around and saw that it was his own Saab. Flakes of dirty white ash had begun to accumulate on its roof.
He looked around.
Jerry? Where was Jerry?
Oh yes, he was still sitting in the car.
He looked back at the house. The flames were shooting out of the windows on both floors now.
The fire-fighters were moving around their vehicles, dragging out bulky hoses and starting to connect them up. One of them, dressed in a red jacket, strode over to Per and leaned close to make himself heard through the roar of the fire: ‘What’s your name?’
‘Per Morner.’
‘Are you the owner of this property, Per?’
He shook his head. He took a deep breath and tried to explain, but his windpipe felt as if it had disintegrated in the dry heat.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, it’s just …’
‘The ambulance is on its way,’ said the fire-fighter. ‘Do you know where the fire started?’
Per swallowed. ‘Everywhere,’ he whispered. Then he took another deep breath and tried to give a sensible answer: ‘There was fire upstairs and downstairs … and I think someone might still be inside. Perhaps more than one person.’
‘What?’
‘I think I saw a person inside the house. And I heard cries.’
He had raised his voice; it sounded better now. The fire-fighter blinked and looked at him. ‘Where exactly was this, Per?’
‘Upstairs, in the rooms upstairs. It was burning inside the rooms, so I …’
‘OK, we’ll search the place. Are there any LPG bottles in the house?’
Per shook his head. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘It was a … a film studio.’
‘Any hazardous liquids?’
‘No,’ said Per. ‘Not as far as I know.’
The man nodded and went back to the fire engines. Per saw that three of his colleagues were pulling on suits with breathing apparatus on their backs. The specialist search team. Two of the others turned on the water from their tank and directed the stream of water up towards the broken windows.
The search team moved slowly towards the front door, and at the same time a red car with the words EMERGENCY RESCUE TEAM on the side pulled into the drive. A man in a yellow jacket got out, holding a two-way radio in his hand. He switched it on and started reporting to someone.
Per coughed and drew more air into his lungs. Then he went back to the car and opened the door. His father was slumped in the passenger seat, his briefcase on his knee.
Per showed him the mobile phone he had found in the hallway. ‘Is this yours?’
Jerry looked and nodded. Per handed it over. ‘How are you feeling now?’
Jerry’s only response was a cough. Per could see him clearly for the first time that day, and he looked pathetic – tired and grey in his crumpled coat. When Per was little and his father used to come and visit him and Anita, Jerry’s hair had been black and slicked back. He had always worn expensive fur coats in the winter and Italian suits in summer. Jerry had earned a lot of money, and liked to show it off.
When Per was fifteen, his father had suddenly changed his name from Gerhard Morner to Jerry Morner, possibly in order to appear more international.
‘You stink,’ Jerry said suddenly. ‘Stink, Pelle.’
‘So do you, Jerry … We stink of smoke.’
Per looked over at the burning house. The men with breathing apparatus were making their way up the stone steps now. The one in front opened the door wide and took a step inside, straight into the thick smoke, and disappeared. The other two remained outside.
Half a minute passed, then suddenly the first man reappeared in the doorway and shook his head at the other two. He raised his hand.
They went back down the steps.
Per realized there was no hope for anyone inside the house.
‘Go, Pelle?’ said Jerry behind him.
It was a tempting thought, simply to start the car and set off for Oland – but of course it was impossible.
‘No,’ Per said. ‘We have to wait here.’
Several more sirens could be heard in the distance. An ambulance swung in and parked between the fire engines and the Saab. The siren was switched off and two paramedics climbed out. They stood looking at the burning house with their arms folded; there wasn’t much else they could do.
‘Come with me,’ said Per, helping his father out of the car. They went over to the ambulance, and Per pointed at Jerry. ‘My father’s got an injury to his stomach, and he’s had some kind of blow to the head … Could you take a
