was moving forwards instead.
Per realized it was picking up speed. It was a red car, he could see now – possibly a Ford Escort. Was it the car from the quarry? The driver was wearing a cap, and was nothing more than a dark shadow behind the wheel.
The car was coming up behind Jerry on the viaduct, but instead of slowing down and sticking to the middle of the road, it was speeding up.
Per was a hundred and fifty metres away, perhaps two hundred. He stopped the car, opened the door and yelled: ‘Jerry!’
But Jerry kept on walking, his head lowered against the wind.
Per got out of the car and cupped his hands: ‘Dad!’
Jerry seemed to hear him. He turned his head, but by that time the car behind him was no more than ten metres away. It didn’t stop. On the contrary, the driver put his foot down.
Jerry looked like a rag doll as the car hit him.
The front of the car knocked his legs from underneath him and lifted him off the ground. Per could only watch as Jerry’s body flew up over the bonnet and was thrown forwards like a blurred shadow, his arms outstretched and his coat flapping.
His father spun around in the air and landed heavily.
‘Jerry!’
The car had slowed down after the collision; Per could see that the windscreen was cracked.
He left the door of the Saab open and started to run up the slope, up towards the viaduct. His shoes slithered and skidded on the grass.
Jerry slowly raised his head from the tarmac. He was bleeding, but still conscious. Then his head sank down again.
The car that had mown him down stopped by the side of the road ten or twelve metres ahead of him; Per saw the driver turn his head and look back, then the car sped away. Faster and faster.
It was a hit-and-run.
Per slipped again on the grass. He battled his way up the slope and fumbled in his pocket for his mobile – then remembered he’d left it in the car.
He jumped over the barrier and landed two metres away from Jerry, just as the car that had hit him joined the motorway.
Per bent over the body on the tarmac. ‘Jerry?’
So much blood. It was pouring from his nose and forehead, running between his broken teeth.
‘Dad?’
His father’s eyes were open, but his whole face was scraped raw, and there was no response. Per looked around in despair for someone who might help him.
The red car accelerated south and disappeared up the motorway. The last thing Per saw was water spurting over the windscreen.
43
‘That was just the pits,’ said Max. ‘It was absolutely terrible.’
‘Don’t think about it,’ said Vendela.
After she had settled Max in an armchair and poured him a whisky, she began to massage his neck and shoulders. She leaned forward and said quietly, ‘Max, there are those who are worse off than you.’
He took a slug of his whisky, closed his eyes and sighed. ‘Yes, but there was the same level of incompetence wherever I went … Wrong directions, hotel rooms with hairs in the bath – and then the local radio station that had forgotten they’d booked me for an interview. They’d
‘Were there any good—’ Vendela began, but Max interrupted her; he hadn’t finished yet.
‘And nothing but a dried-up sandwich before I was due on stage, even though my contract states that they’re supposed to provide dinner. I didn’t even get a glass of wine … Bread and water, that’s what they expected me to get through an entire lecture on!’
‘But what about the audiences?’ Vendela asked. ‘Lots of people turned up, didn’t they?’
‘About three hundred each night,’ Max said quietly. ‘I’d been hoping for five hundred … none of the venues was full.’
‘But that’s still a good number,’ said Vendela, ‘and it’ll be even better when the book comes out.’
Max emptied his glass and stood up. ‘Any post?’
‘Just a few letters,’ replied Vendela, following him into the kitchen.
She looked around for Aloysius, but the dog had hardly shown himself since his master came home. Ally could tell when Max was in a bad mood.
Max picked up the pile of post and started to flick through it. ‘So what else has been happening here?’
‘Not much,’ said Vendela. ‘I planted a bit more ivy at the front, and carried on with the lilac hedge. And I’ve planted three robinias at the back.’
‘Good, they’ll provide a good screen in time.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
Max picked up a note from the worktop. ‘What’s this?’
Vendela saw that he was holding up the note from Per Morner.
‘
She stared back, not knowing what to say.
‘It’s from our neighbour,’ she said eventually. ‘You know, Per Morner. His daughter had lost her lucky stone. I helped them to find it.’
‘Oh? So where was it, then?’
‘Outside their cottage,’ said Vendela, unable to look Max in the eye.
It was a lie, but she couldn’t tell him the truth; she couldn’t tell him she had asked the elves for help.
‘So you’ve been meeting our neighbour,’ said Max. ‘Is that why you haven’t been answering the phone?’
Vendela blinked and didn’t answer. What could she say?
‘So what did you and Per do when you met up?’
‘Nothing … not much,’ Vendela said quickly. ‘But he likes exercise, so we went out for a bit of a run. Up the coast.’
‘I see,’ Max said calmly and slowly. ‘So you’ve been exercising together.’
‘That’s right.’
She clamped her teeth together to stop herself from laughing nervously.
44
Jerry and his granddaughter Nilla were both in Kalmar hospital now, but on different wards. Per spent all weekend shuttling between his father and daughter, sitting by their beds.
His steps were heavy as he made the journey – and each time he had to pass the maternity unit, with parents-to-be and new parents constantly coming and going. When they opened the door, the sound of bright voices and cheerful shouts from small children who had just become big brothers or sisters came pouring out, mingled with the thin cries of newborn babies.
Per hurried past as quickly as possible.
Nilla’s ward was unbearably quiet. The nurses moved silently along the corridors and spoke to each other in muted voices.
Before Dr Stenhammar left for the weekend he had given Per and Marika a time and date for Nilla’s
