The Quarry

the trees and said, ‘I don’t think I’ll be here much longer, John.’

‘Here in the village?’

‘No, I mean here,’ said Gerlof, pointing to his chest, where he presumed the soul and therefore the source of life was located.

It didn’t sound quite as dramatic as he’d expected, and John merely nodded and asked, ‘Are you ill, then?’

‘No more than usual,’ said Gerlof. ‘But I’m very weary. I ought to do something useful, a bit of carpentry, paint the cottage like I used to do … but I just sit here.’

John looked away, as if the conversation was hard work. ‘Start with something small,’ he suggested. ‘Go down to the sea and clean up the gig.’

Gerlof sighed. ‘It’s full of holes.’

‘We can fix it,’ said John. ‘And there’s a new millennium in two years, a new era. You want to be around for that, don’t you?’

‘Maybe … we’ll just have to see what this new era is like.’ Gerlof wanted to change the subject, and nodded in the direction of the fence. ‘So what do you think of the neighbours, then? Across the road.’

John said nothing.

‘Don’t you know them?’

‘Well, I’ve seen them. But they’ve hardly been here up till now, I don’t really know much about them.’

‘Me neither. But I’m curious – aren’t you?’

‘They’re rich,’ said John. ‘Rich folk from the mainland.’

‘Definitely,’ said Gerlof. ‘You need to let them know you’re around.’

‘What for?’

‘So you can do some jobs for them before the campers arrive.’

‘That’s a good idea.’

Gerlof nodded, leaning forward slightly. ‘And make sure they pay you well.’

‘Good thinking,’ said John, looking almost cheerful.

7

‘So you’ll be staying here for a few weeks now?’ asked the young estate agent as he handed over the keys and the last of the paperwork to Vendela Larsson. ‘Enjoying the spring sunshine?’

‘That’s what we’re hoping,’ said Vendela with a laugh.

She often laughed nervously when she was talking to people she didn’t know. But she was hoping the habit would disappear now she was on the island. A lot of things were going to be different now.

‘Good, excellent,’ said the agent. ‘That means you’ll be helping to extend the tourist season, like real pioneers … Showing people on the mainland that it’s possible to enjoy the peace and quiet of Oland for more than just a few weeks in the summer.’

Vendela nodded.

Enjoy the peace and quiet? That depended on whether she would be able to relax, of course, and whether Max would settle and be able to get his cookery book finished.

Right now he was in the heated garage washing the car. Every drop of blood must go. Since they had arrived at the summer house Max hadn’t said a word about what had happened on the way, but fury surrounded him like a sour smell.

Vendela had been left to deal with the agent, and she was trying not to shiver in the cold wind. It was evening; the sun had set over the sound and taken every vestige of warmth with it. She really wanted to go back indoors.

The agent looked around in the twilight, over at the large house next door and the small cottage a few hundred metres to the north.

‘This is an excellent area,’ he said. ‘Absolutely top-notch. The neighbours are just in the right place – not too close, not too far away. And no other properties between you and the shore … All you have to do is walk around the quarry if you fancy a morning dip.’

‘Once the ice has melted, of course,’ said Vendela.

‘It won’t be long now,’ said the agent. ‘It’s quite rare for it to be here this late … but we had a hard winter this year. Minus fifteen some nights.’

A stocky man in blue dungarees was standing next to the agent. He was the local builder, and nodded to Vendela.

‘Any problems, give me a ring,’ he said.

Those were his first and last words to Vendela this evening. Both he and the agent made a move.

‘Don’t fall out with your neighbours,’ was the agent’s final piece of advice to Vendela as they shook hands. ‘That’s the golden rule for house-owners.’

‘We haven’t met the neighbours yet,’ said Vendela, laughing again.

As she walked back into the house, little Aloysius hauled himself laboriously out of his dog basket on his stiff legs and barked. He didn’t seem to be aware that it was his mistress who had come into the room – perhaps his sense of smell was failing too.

‘It’s only me, Ally,’ said Vendela, patting him.

She had felt a little exposed out in the windswept garden, but in here nobody could get to her. She loved the clean surfaces in the new house. Everything was pristine, there was no rubbish hidden in cupboards or attics. There was no cellar waiting to be cleared out and cleaned.

She remembered what the agent had said about the neighbours, and suddenly had an idea: perhaps she and Max ought to organize a party for everyone in the village, some time this week, so that they could get to know people. It would also be a way for her to practise relaxing when she was in company.

A party would definitely be a good idea.

Although it wasn’t actually the neighbours she wanted to meet, it was the elves.

Once upon a time, long, long ago, a hunter went out on to the alvar, her father had told Vendela one evening. The hunter was after hares and pheasants, but instead he met the great love of his life out there. And he was never the same again.

She had been six or seven years old when her father, Henry, started to tell her a story about the elves out on the alvar. Vendela had never forgotten that story. She often pondered on it and everything else she had learned about the elves over the years.

She started to write down Henry’s story, exactly as she remembered it:

The hunter went far out on to the alvar, but there were no birds or small wild animals to be seen that day. The only thing he saw was a tall, slender deer in the distance, a deer that remained where it was, as if it were waiting for him to come closer, before turning and setting off towards the horizon.

The hunter followed across the grass, his gun at the ready. His pursuit of the deer lasted for several hours, but the hunter never got any nearer to his quarry. The sun went down and the evening came, and slowly the hunter drew closer to the deer. He raised his gun.

Then suddenly the sun was shining brightly once again, and the hunter saw that he was standing on the alvar where the grass was fresh and green, with little streams babbling around him. The deer had vanished, but in its place a tall, beautiful woman dressed all in white was coming towards him.

The woman smiled and told him she was the queen of the elves; she had seen him many times out on the alvar, and had fallen in love with him. Now she had lured him into her own domain.

Vendela looked up and studied the wide sound beyond the window. In the darkness the ice looked grey and dirty.

If she leaned close to the glass she could see the house next door, which made her think about the party again. Yes, she would definitely get that organized.

She leaned back and continued to write:

When the hunter saw the queen of the elves standing before him, he lowered his gun and sank to his knees. And the queen took out a silver goblet and bent down to a murmuring brook. She filled the goblet to