The Quarry

vital indication.’

Per didn’t ask what the final words meant, but they didn’t sound good.

‘When?’ Marika asked quietly.

‘Soon, very soon.’ The doctor paused. ‘And I’m afraid it’s not a straightforward operation.’

‘What are the odds on her recovery?’ asked Per. A terrible question – he wanted to take it back. But Dr Stenhammar merely shook his head.

‘We don’t bet in here.’

They walked out into the corridor in silence. Georg went to get some coffee. Per had nothing to say to his ex-wife, but Marika suddenly looked around.

‘Where’s Jesper?’

‘Back at the cottage.’

‘Alone?’

‘No, my father’s with him.’

‘Jerry?’

Marika had raised her voice in the empty corridor. Per lowered his: ‘Gerhard, yes. He came to us a few days ago …’

‘Why?’

‘He’s sick,’ said Per. ‘He’s had a—’

‘He always has been, hasn’t he?’

‘… and he needed some help,’ Per went on. ‘But I’ll be taking him home soon.’

‘Well, don’t bring him here,’ Marika snapped. ‘I don’t want to risk meeting that dirty old sod ever again.’

‘Dirty old sod? Well, he might be,’ Per said quietly, ‘but as far as I recall you were very curious about Jerry and his activities when we met. You thought it was exciting, or so you said.’

‘I thought you were exciting at the time,’ said Marika. ‘I soon got over that as well.’

‘Good,’ said Per. ‘That’s one problem less.’

‘It’s not me who has a problem with you, Per. It’s you who has a problem with me.’

He took a deep breath. ‘I’m just going to say goodbye to Nilla.’

Marika stayed in the corridor while Per went in to see Nilla before setting off for home. The room was quiet. She was lying in bed beneath a white sheet, and of course the drip was back in her arm. He bent down and pressed his cheek against hers. ‘Hello, you.’

‘Hi.’

She was pale now, her chest trembling with shallow breaths.

‘How are you doing? How do your lungs feel?’

‘Not too bad …’

‘You’re looking good.’

She shook her head. ‘I can’t find my black stone, Dad.’

‘What black stone?’

‘My piece of lava from Iceland … Mum bought it, it’s my lucky stone. It was in my room. I thought I put it in my pocket, but it’s not there now.’

Per remembered; it was a smooth, coal-black stone, and Nilla had let him hold it; it fitted perfectly into his palm.

‘I’m sure it’s in the house somewhere,’ he said. ‘I’ll find it.’

When he got back to the cottage half an hour later, Jerry and Jesper had cleared away the food and removed the stained cloth. But the dishes were piled up in the kitchen, and Per had to deal with them.

His father and son were sitting on the sofa in the living room watching some American sitcom. Jerry seemed captivated, but Jesper turned his head as his father walked in.

‘How did it go, Dad?’

Per rubbed his eyes. ‘Well, Nilla has to stay in Kalmar tonight, but she’s feeling better now.’

Jesper nodded, and turned his attention back to the TV.

Later, thought Per. I’ll tell him about the tumour later.

He turned away.

‘What are you going to do now?’ asked Jesper.

‘I’m going to look for a stone, a lucky stone.’

Then he remembered something, and turned back. ‘By the way, what was it you found, Jesper? A piece of bone?’

‘Mmm. It’s in my room, on the bookshelf.’

Per went into his son’s room. He tried to ignore the mess, but opened the window to let a bit of air in. Then he looked at the bookshelf.

The piece of bone lying there amongst Jesper’s books and games was very small, just four or five centimetres long. It was greyish-white and felt rough to the touch, as if it had been lying out in the open for many years and had become dry and fragile.

And Per could see that Jesper and Nilla were right; the piece of bone did actually resemble a broken-off human finger.

30

As their parents were dead and they had no children together, Max and Vendela would be celebrating Easter alone in their new summer home. It didn’t really matter, Vendela felt. Easter wasn’t that important.

Her grown-up daughter Caroline had phoned from Dubai to wish them Happy Easter, but she wouldn’t be home until midsummer. Max had three children with his first wife, but his daughter had fallen out with him after Max had made some comments about her mother a couple of years earlier. Then she had got her two brothers on her side, so at the moment none of them were in touch with their father.

And of course the children were particularly poisonous towards Vendela as their stepmother, she knew that. Things had always been the same.

She had brought some birch twigs from the old farm, and although they triggered her allergy she took them into the house to use as her Easter decoration. Nothing more was needed to create a festive atmosphere.

Then it was time for dinner. Vendela was tired of cooking – both the fridge and the freezer were full of leftovers from the party – but she still had to come up with some kind of celebratory Easter meal. Some eggs, some herring and potatoes, a little wine. A Bordeaux – she had already opened the bottle and poured herself a glass.

The door of Max’s study was closed; he had been sitting at his thinking desk all day, and didn’t wish to be disturbed. He was charging his batteries before a small book tour which he was due to undertake after Easter, and the first hundred pages of proofs for Good Food to the Max had just arrived from his publisher. Yesterday they had sent the final recipes to the editor, so the project was almost finished. Sooner or later Max would no doubt emerge and ask her to proofread the pages.

The fan was whirring away as the eggs and potatoes simmered on the hob. Vendela thought about Max’s children; they hadn’t even called to wish him Happy Easter.

The kitchen timer started buzzing behind her; the eggs were done. She lifted the bubbling pan off the hob and ran cold water into it.

There were twelve hard-boiled eggs, but Vendela wouldn’t be eating any of them. She had won the struggle against hunger since she came to the island, and as long as she boiled enough eggs, Max wouldn’t be able to keep track of whether she’d eaten any or not.

Vendela saw a small movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned her head. ‘Hello Ally,’ she said.

Aloysius had come into the kitchen – without bumping into the door frame with his nose, as he often did. He shuffled across the floor towards her, slowly but in a straight line.