muttered. 'Now we're going to be encumbered with them at work as well. I don't get the point of that damned quota system. Maybe I was naive, but I thought I'd be able to choose my own staff. But no, instead they're going to send me a dame who probably hasn't even learned to button her uniform. Am I right?'
Simon didn't answer but kept his eyes fixed on his plate.
It felt odd to be eating lunch at home, but it was another link in the father-and- son project that Mellberg had initiated. He had even made an effort to slice some vegetables, which previously had never even made an appearance in his refrigerator. But he noticed with annoyance that Simon hadn't touched either the cucumber or the tomatoes. Instead he was concentrating on the macaroni and meatballs, which he covered with enormous quantities of ketchup. Oh well, ketchup was tomatoes too, Mellberg supposed, so that would have to do.
He decided to change the subject. It just aggravated his blood pressure to keep thinking about their new colleague. Instead he focused on his son's plans for the future.
'So, have you thought about what sort of job you want? If you don't think that studying at the Gymnasium is for you, I can help you find some sort of work. Not everyone can be the studious type, and if you're half as practically inclined as your father…' Mellberg chuckled.
A less experienced parent might have been concerned about his son's lack of initiative regarding his own future, but Mellberg was filled with confidence. Surely Simon was just going through a temporary period of depression; there was nothing to worry about. He pondered whether he wanted the boy to be a lawyer or a doctor. A lawyer, he decided. Doctors no longer made as much money. But until he could get him onto that career track the important thing was to back off and cut the boy some slack. If he got a taste of life's hard knocks he would eventually listen to reason. Of course Simon's mother had informed him that the boy had failed in almost every subject, and it was clear that might place some obstacles in his path. But Mellberg was thinking positive. The whole problem was no doubt due to lack of support at home, because the intelligence must be there; otherwise Mother Nature would have played an especially malicious trick on them.
Simon was chewing listlessly on a meatball and didn't seem particularly inclined to answer his father's question.
'So, what do you say about a job?' Mellbergsaid again, getting a bit more annoyed. Here he was making an effort to forge a bond between them, and Simon couldn't even take the trouble to reply.
Still chewing, Simon said after a while, 'No, I don't think so.'
'What do you mean, you don't think so?' said Mellberg indignantly. 'Then what
Simon didn't even blink. 'No, I'll probably go back and live with my mum.'
The announcement hit Mellberg like a kick in the head. Somewhere near his heart he felt a weird, almost stabbing pain.
'Back to your mum?' Mellberg repeated, as if he couldn't believe his ears. It was an option he hadn't even considered.
'But I thought you didn't like living there? You said you hated 'that damned bitch,' when you arrived.'
'Oh, Mum's all right,' said Simon, looking out of the window.
'And I'm not?' said Mellberg in a grumpy voice. He couldn't hide the disappointment that had crept in. He regretted being so hard on the boy. Maybe it wasn't really necessary for the kid to start working right away. There would be plenty of time for drudgery in his life; taking it easy for a while wasn't going to ruin his chances.
Mellberg hurried to declare his new point of view, but it didn't have the effect he expected.
'Oh, that's not it. Mum will probably make me get a job too. But it's my mates, you know. I have lots of mates back home, and here I don't know a soul and…' He let the sentence die out.
'But what about all the great things we've done together,' said Mellberg. 'Father and son, you know. I thought you were enjoying finally being with your old pop. Getting to know me.'
Mellberg was groping for a convincing argument. He couldn't imagine why only two weeks earlier he'd felt such panic, waiting for his son to arrive. Sure, he'd been angry with him occasionally, but still. For the first time, he had actually had a feeling of anticipation when he put the key in the door after work. And now all that was about to disappear.
The boy shrugged. 'You've been great. It has nothing to do with you. But I was never actually supposed to move here. That's just something Mum says when she gets mad. She's sent me to Grandma before, but now that she's sick, Mum didn't know what to do with me. But I talked to her yesterday. She's calmed down now and wants me to come home. So I'm taking the nine o'clock train in the morning,' he said without looking at Mellberg. But then he raised his eyes. 'But it's been really cool. Honest. And you've been bloody great and tried really hard and all that. So I'd like to come and visit sometimes, if that's okay…' He paused for a moment but then added, 'Pop?'
Warmth spread through Mellberg's chest. It was the first time the boy had ever called him Pop. Damn it, it was the first time anyone had ever called him Pop.
All at once he found it a bit easier to take the news that the boy was leaving. At least he would be coming back to visit once in a while. Pop.
It was the hardest thing they had ever done. At the same time it gave them a feeling of closure that would enable them to build a foundation for their marriage in the future. The sight of the little white casket sinking into the ground made them hold each other tight. Nothing in the world could be more difficult than this. Saying goodbye to Sara.
Niclas and Charlotte had chosen to be alone. The ceremony in the church had been short and simple. They had wanted it that way. Only the two of them and the pastor. And now they stood alone by the grave. The pastor had spoken the words the occasion demanded and then quietly withdrawn. They had tossed a single rose onto the casket, and it shone bright pink against the white wood. Pink had been her favourite colour. Maybe just because it clashed with her red hair. Sara had never chosen the easy paths.
Their hatred for Lilian was still fresh. Charlotte felt ashamed to be standing in the stillness of the churchyard, with so much hatred gushing out of every pore in her body. Maybe it would be assuaged over time, but out of the corner of her eye she saw the mound of earth on her father's grave, formed when he was laid to rest for the second time. Then she wondered how she would ever be able to feel anything other than rage and sorrow.
Lilian had not only taken Sara from them, but also her father, and she would never forgive her for that. How could she? The pastor had talked about forgiveness as a way to lessen the pain, but how does one forgive a monster? She didn't even understand why her mother had committed these horrendous crimes. The meaningless- ness of the deeds only stoked the fury and pain she felt. Was Lilian completely insane, or had she acted according to some sort of demented logic? The fact that they might never find out made the loss even harder to bear; she wanted to rip the words of explanation out of her mother's mouth.
Besides all the flowers from people in town who wanted to show their sympathy, two small wreaths had also arrived at the church. One was from Sara's paternal grandmother Asta. It was placed next to the casket and had now been carried down to the churchyard to be placed beside the small gravestone. Asta had also contacted them to ask if she could attend, but they had politely refused. They wanted the time to themselves. Instead they asked whether she might consider taking care of Albin while they went to the church. And she had agreed with pleasure.
The second wreath was from Charlotte's maternal grandmother Agnes. Without knowing why, Charlotte had refused to have it anywhere near the casket and had ordered it thrown out. She had always thought that Lilian took after her mother, and in some way she knew instinctively that the evil came from her.
They stood in silence by the grave for a long while, with their arms around each other. Then they walked slowly away. For a second Charlotte stopped at her father's grave. She gave a brief nod
