thought that was strange … so I wanted to see where he went.’
Per let out a long breath. ‘I never saw him clearly … Did we look alike, Thomas Fall and I?’
‘Alike? What do you mean?’
‘He said we were half-brothers.’
Per turned his back on the quarry; he didn’t want to look down at the car any longer. He was covered in blood, dirty, burnt and battered, and his clothes still stank of petrol. It was his turn to go to hospital.
‘We need to ring for some help,’ he said. ‘We’d better go inside.’
He set off slowly towards his cottage, but when he looked around he realized that Gerlof was still standing on the edge of the quarry, his head drooping. He met Per’s gaze and blinked slowly, his expression confused, and when he finally spoke his voice was very weak.
‘I don’t know if I can manage without my stick. I feel a bit …’ Gerlof fell silent and swayed.
Per moved fast. His whole chest hurt as his ribs scraped against one another, but he didn’t hesitate. He took three long strides and grabbed hold of Gerlof before he fell over the edge.
71
Life was a dream to Vendela, but only for short periods. Mostly it was an extended state of torpor without images or memories, occasionally interrupted by faint, echoing voices around her, or shadows lifting her body and pulling at her arms. She simply allowed it all to happen, she just slept and slept.
Eventually she woke up and reached for Aloysius – but stopped herself and blinked. Where was she?
She was lying on her back in a hospital bed, staring up at a white ceiling. She didn’t recognize it.
The walls in the room were bare and painted yellow, with strips of sunlight seeping in through Venetian blinds. After a few minutes she looked around and realized she was alone. Alone in a hospital room on a sunny spring day. It seemed to be around the middle of the day, and she must have slept for a long time, but she was still incredibly tired.
‘Hello?’ she called out.
No response.
A small, transparent plastic bag was hanging from a metal stand next to her bed. There was a tube attached to the bottom of the bag, and when Vendela followed it with her eyes she realized it ended in a canula inserted into her left arm.
A drip. She was on a drip.
She remembered the tablets. She remembered that she had gone out to the elf stone one last time, with sorrow and ice in her soul. She had taken the tablets with her, she had sat down by the stone and opened the bottle …
She had wanted to feel calmer, but she had probably taken too many tablets.
She sat up slowly in bed, but felt dizzy and waited for it to pass before swinging her legs over the side. Then she waited for another minute or two, and eventually got to her feet.
She stood still, taking deep breaths. Her nose wasn’t blocked; her spring allergy had gone.
There was a pair of slippers waiting for her by the wall, with a red cotton dressing gown on top of them. She put them on, then wheeled the drip stand along with her as she started to shuffle across the floor. The door of her room was ajar, and she pulled it open.
She wanted to call out again, but there was no one there.
The corridor outside her room was long, well-lit and completely deserted. There was a glass door with the word EXIT on it, but it looked very heavy; she didn’t think she’d be able to open it. So she went in the opposite direction, further into the ward.
The long corridor led to a small day room with sofas and chairs. There was a TV on the wall; it was switched on, but the volume was low. There was some kind of race going on, with people running through a maze and shouting to one another.
There was only one person in the room, gazing at the TV screen – a powerfully built man wearing a brown polo-neck sweater. Suddenly Vendela realized it was Max.
He turned his head and caught sight of her. He got up. ‘Hi, you’re … you’re up and about.’
Vendela stared at him. ‘Where are we?’
‘In Kalmar … in the hospital.’
She nodded, still staring at him.
Max looked tired too, but he was alive. Vendela had been certain he was dead, she remembered that – she had stood by the elf stone wishing that his heart would simply give up and stop beating. She had sacrificed her wedding ring for the fulfilment of her wish.
Why hadn’t it happened?
Presumably because there were no elves to grant people’s wishes. She stopped with her drip stand by her side, five metres from her husband. She had walked no more than ten metres, but her legs were trembling.
‘Max … what day is it?’
‘Day? It’s Friday – the first of May.’
‘Is there no one else here?’ said Vendela. ‘No nurses?’
‘Not many. It is a holiday, after all.’
Max didn’t look pleased at the thought that it was the first of May. Vendela remembered he had always hated that particular day.
‘But I can go and get somebody,’ he went on quickly. ‘Is there something you need?’
‘No.’
They stood in silence, looking at one another.
‘What happened?’ she said. ‘I remember I was out on the alvar … did somebody find me?’
Max nodded. ‘Our neighbour from the cottage, Per Morner. He called the ambulance.’
There was another pause before Max continued, ‘He ended up needing some attention as well … He was hit by a car down in the village. Apparently somebody was trying to run him over.’
‘Who?’ said Vendela. ‘Per?’
Max nodded again. ‘So he’s here in the hospital as well … But he’s going to be OK, according to the nurses. And his daughter’s in here too. She had her operation this morning.’
‘Is she all right now?’ asked Vendela.
‘I don’t know … you can never really tell, can you? Evidently it was a tricky operation, but it went well.’ Max hesitated, then added, ‘And how … how are you feeling?’
‘Fine. A bit tired … but I’m fine.’
She could see that Max didn’t believe her, and why should he? In the end she had done exactly what he was afraid of, and swallowed goodness knows how many tablets.
Yes, she had been ill, but Vendela knew that the darkness had passed – for now.
‘I have to go,’ she said.
She took hold of the drip stand and turned around, slowly and carefully.
‘Do you need to sit down? I can …’
‘No, Max. I have to go and lie down again.’
And she set off. The door of her room seemed a very long way off.
‘Can we talk?’ said Max behind her.
‘Not now.’
‘Where’s your ring?’ he asked. ‘You weren’t wearing your wedding ring when they brought you in …’
Vendela stopped. Slowly she twisted around, a quarter of a turn. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘But I threw it away.’
‘Why did you do that?’
‘Because it was worthless.’
Vendela didn’t say any more, she just set off down the corridor again. She was afraid that Max would call out
