The Drowning

visible print on the windowpane. He raised his hand and rubbed it off. He didn’t want to look at that, didn’t want to see any trace of himself.

When the train arrived in Uddevalla, he was so tired that he could barely see straight. He’d tried to doze off during the last hour of the trip, but images kept flickering through his mind, keeping him awake. He stopped at the McDonald’s on the road to Torp and bought a large coffee, which he quickly downed for the sake of the caffeine.

His mobile was buzzing again, but he didn’t feel like taking the phone out of his pocket, much less talking to whoever was so persistently trying to reach him. It was probably Sanna. She would be annoyed with him when he finally got home, but he didn’t care.

He could feel a prickling sensation in his body, and he shifted position in the driver’s seat. The headlamps from the car behind him were shining in his rear-view mirror, and he was temporarily blinded when he shifted his gaze to the road ahead. There was something about those headlamps – the steadily maintained distance, and the glare – that made him glance in the rear-view mirror again. It was the same car that had been behind him ever since he stopped in Torp. Or was it? He rubbed his eyes. He was no longer sure about anything.

The lights stayed with him as he turned off the motorway at the sign for Fjallbacka. Christian squinted, trying to make out what model car was following him. But it was too dark, and the headlamps were too bright. His hands were sweaty as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He was holding on so hard that his hands started to ache, and he briefly let go to flex his fingers.

He pictured her in his mind. She was wearing the blue dress, holding the child in her arms. The scent of strawberries, the taste of her lips. The feeling of the dress fabric against his skin. Her hair, long and brown.

Something jumped out in front of his car. Christian braked hard and for several seconds, the tyres lost contact with the road. The car slid towards the ditch, and he could feel that he’d lost control of the vehicle; he just let it happen. But a few centimetres from the edge, the car came to a halt. The white rump of a deer was clearly visible in the light of the headlamps, and he watched the animal leaping with fright across the field.

The engine was still running, but the sound was drowned out by the roar inside his head. In his rear-view mirror he noticed that the car behind him had also stopped, and he knew that he ought to get going. Away from those headlamps shining in the mirror.

A car door opened and someone got out of the other vehicle. Who was that coming towards him? It was so dark outside, and he couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman approaching. A few more steps and the dark figure would reach his door.

Christian’s hands began shaking as he continued to grip the wheel. He looked away from the mirror to stare out across the open field at the edge of the forest, which was vaguely discernible a short distance away. He stared and waited. The door on the passenger side of his car opened.

‘Are you all right? Everything okay? It looks like you almost hit that deer.’

Christian turned his head towards the voice. A white-haired man in his sixties was standing there, looking at him.

‘I’m fine,’ Christian muttered. ‘I was just a bit shocked. That’s all.’

‘I can understand that. It’s awful when something jumps out in front of your car like that. Are you sure you’re all right though?’

‘Absolutely. I’m going to head for home now. I’m on my way to Fjallbacka.’

‘Ah, I see. I’m going to Hamburgsund. Drive carefully.’

The man shut the door, and Christian could feel his pulse begin to slow down. It was only ghosts, memories from the past. Nothing that could harm him.

A little voice in his head tried to talk about the letters. They were not figments of his imagination. But he turned a deaf ear, refusing to listen to the voice. If he started thinking about that, she would be in control again. And that was something he could not allow. He had worked so hard to forget. She wasn’t going to get hold of him again.

He started driving, headed for Fjallbacka. In his jacket pocket his mobile was buzzing.

10

Alice kept on crying, both day and night. He heard Mother and Father talking about it. They said she had something called colic. No matter what that meant, it was unbearable listening to the racket she made. The sound was encroaching on his whole life, taking everything away from him.

Why didn’t Mother hate her when she cried so much? Why did she hold her, sing to her, rock her to sleep, and look at her with such a gentle expression, as if she felt sorry for the baby?

There was no reason to feel sorry for Alice. She behaved that way on purpose. He was convinced of that. Sometimes when he leaned over her cot and peered down at her as she lay there like an ugly little beetle, she would stare back at him. She gave him a look that said she didn’t want Mother to love him. That was why she cried and demanded everything from her. So that there would be nothing left for him.

Now and then he could see that Father felt the same way. That he too knew that Alice was acting like that on purpose, so that Father would have no share of Mother either. Yet Father did nothing. Why didn’t he do anything? He was big and grown up. He should be able to make Alice stop.

Father was hardly allowed to touch the baby either. Occasionally he would try, picking her up and patting her bottom and stroking her back to get her to calm down. But Mother always said that he was doing it wrong, that he should leave Alice to her. And then Father would retreat again.

But one day Father decided to take charge of her. Alice had been crying worse than ever, for three whole nights in a row.

He had lain awake in his room, pressing the pillow over his head to block out the sound. And under the pillow his hatred had grown. It began spreading, settling so heavily on top of him that he could hardly breathe, and he had to lift the pillow away to gasp for air. By now Mother was worn out after being awake for three nights. So she had made an exception, leaving the baby to Father while she went to bed. And Father had decided to give Alice a bath, asking him if he’d like to watch.

Father carefully tested the temperature of the water before filling the bathtub. He looked at Alice, who for once was quiet, with the same expression on his face as Mother usually had. Never before had Father seemed so important. He was usually an invisible figure who disappeared in Mother’s radiance, someone who had also been shut out from the relationship that Mother and Alice shared. But now he was suddenly important. He smiled at Alice, and she smiled back.

Father cautiously lowered the tiny naked body into the water. He placed her in a baby bath seat lined with terry-cloth, almost like a little hammock, so she was partially sitting up. Tenderly he washed her arms, her legs, her plump little belly. She waved her hands and kicked her feet. She wasn’t crying. Finally she had stopped crying. But that didn’t matter. She had won. Even Father had left his place of refuge behind the newspaper to come out and smile at her.

He stood quietly in the doorway. Couldn’t take his eyes off Father’s hands touching that little body. Father, who had been the closest thing to an ally after Mother had stopped looking at him. The doorbell rang and he gave a start. Father looked from the bathroom door to Alice, unsure what to do. Finally he said:

‘Could you look after your little sister for a minute? I just need to go see who that is. I’ll be right back.’

He hesitated a second. Then he felt his head nodding. Father got up from where he was kneeling beside the tub and told him to come closer. His feet moved automatically to carry him the short distance over to the tub. Alice looked up at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Father leave the bathroom.

They were alone now, he and Alice.

Erica stared at Patrik in disbelief.

‘In the ice?’

‘Yes, the poor man who found him must have had a real shock.’ Patrik had given Erica a brief summary of the