Anders lay on the bed with his hands clasped behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. It was already late, and as always he felt the weight of a long day's work in his limbs. But this evening he couldn't really seem to relax. So many thoughts were buzzing round in his head that it was like trying to sleep in the midst of a swarm of flies.
The meeting about the memorial stone had gone well, and that was one of the reasons for his ruminations. He knew that I he job would be a challenge, and he ran through the different approaches, trying to decide on the best way to proceed. He already knew where he wanted to cut the big stone out of the mountain. In the south-west corner of the quarry there was a sizeable cliff that was as yet untouched. That was where he thought he could cut out a large, fine piece of granite. With a little luck the stone would be free of any defects or weaknesses that might cause it to crack.
The other reason for his musing was the girl with the dark hair and blue eyes. He knew that these were forbidden thoughts. Girls like that were not for someone like him; he shouldn't even give them a thought. But he couldn't help it. When he held her little hand in his he'd had to force himself to release it at once. With each second that her skin touched his, he felt it more difficult to let go, and he had never been fond of playing with fire. The whole meeting had been a trial. The hands on the clock on the wall had crept along, and the whole time he'd had to restrain himself from turning round and looking at her as she sat so quietly in the corner.
He'd never seen anything so beautiful. None of the girls, or women for that matter, who had been a fleeting part of his life could even be mentioned in the same breath. She belonged to a whole other world. He sighed and turned on his side, attempting once again to get to sleep. The new day would begin at five o'clock, just like every other day, and took no account of whether he had lain awake all night mulling over his thoughts.
There was a sharp noise. It sounded like a pebble hitting the windowpane, but the sound came and went so quickly that he wondered whether he'd just imagined it. In any case it was quiet now, so he closed his eyes again. But then the sound was back. There was no doubt about it. Someone was throwing pebbles at his window. Anders sat bolt upright. It must be one of the friends he sometimes joined for a beer. He thought indignantly that if his widowed landlady woke up, someone would have to answer for it. His lodging arrangement had functioned well for the past three years, and he didn't need any trouble.
Cautiously he unlatched the window and opened it. He lived on the ground floor, but a big lilac bush partially blocked his view. He squinted to see who was standing in the faint moonlight.
And he couldn't believe the testimony of his own eyes.
She hesitated for a long time. She even put on her jacket and then took it off again, twice. But finally Erica made up her mind. There could be nothing wrong with offering her support; then she could see whether Charlotte wanted to have a visitor or not. It tell impossible just to sit at home when she knew that her friend was mired in her own private hell.
As she walked she saw evidence of the storm from two days earlier still scattered along her route. Trees that had toppled, branches and debris lay strewn about, mixed with small piles of red and yellow leaves. But the wind also seemed to have blown away a dirty autumn layer that had settled over the town. Now the air smelled fresh, and it was as clear as a washed pane of glass.
Maja was shrieking at the top of her lungs in the pram, and Brica walked faster. For some reason the baby seemed to have decided that it was utterly meaningless to lie in the pram if she was awake, and she was again protesting loudly. Her screams made Erica's heart beat faster, and tiny panicked beads of sweat appeared on her brow. A primitive instinct was telling her that she had to stop the pram at once and pick up Maja to save her from the wolves, but she steeled herself. It was such a short way to Charlotte's mother's house, and she would be there soon.
It was odd that a single event could alter so completely the way she looked at the world. Erica had always thought that the houses along the cove below the Salvik campground stood like a peaceful string of pearls along the road, with a view over the sea and the islands. Now a gloomy mood seemed to have descended on the rooftops and especially onto the house of the Florin family. She hesitated once again, but now she was so close that it seemed foolish to turn round. They could just ask her to leave if they thought she was coming at an inopportune time. Friendships were tested in times of crisis, and she didn't want to be one of those people who out of exaggerated caution and perhaps even cowardice avoided friends who were having a hard time.
Puffing, she pushed the pram up the hill. The Florins' house was partway up the slope, and she paused for a second at their driveway to catch her breath. Maja's yells had reached a decibel level that would have been classified as unlawful in a workplace, so she hurried to park the pram and picked her up in her arms.
For several long seconds she stood at the front door with her hand raised and her heart pounding. Finally she gave the wood a sharp rap. There was a doorbell, but sending that shrill sound into the house seemed somehow too intrusive. A long moment passed in silence, and Erica was just about to turn and go when she heard footsteps inside the house. It was Niclas who opened the door.
'Hi,' she said softly.
'Hi,' said Niclas, grief evident in his red-rimmed eyes, glistening with tears in his pale face. Erica thought that he looked like someone who had died but was still condemned to walk the earth.
'Pardon me for bothering you, it's not what I intended, I just thought…' She sought for words but found none. A heavy silence settled between them. Niclas fixed his gaze on his feet, and for the second time since she knocked on the door Erica was about to turn on her heel and flee back home.
'Would you like to come in?' he asked.
'Do you think it would be all right?' Erica asked. 'I mean, do you think it would be any…' she searched for the right word, 'help?'
'She's been given a sedative and isn't really…' He didn't finish the sentence. 'But she said several times that she should have rung you, so it would be good if you could reassure her on that point.'
The fact that Charlotte had worried about not ringing to cancel, after what had happened, told Erica something about how confused her friend must be. But when she followed Niclas into the living room she still couldn't help uttering a startled cry. If Niclas looked like the walking dead, Charlotte looked like someone who'd been buried long ago. Nothing of the energetic, warm, lively Charlotte was left. It was as though an empty shell were lying on the sofa. Her dark hair, which usually formed a frame of curls around her lace, now hung in lank wisps. The extra weight that her mother had always criticized had seemed becoming in Erica's eyes, making Charlotte look like one of Zorn's voluptuous Dalecarlian women. Yet as she now lay huddled up under the blanket her complexion and body had taken on a doughy, unhealthy look.
She wasn't asleep. Rather, her eyes stared lifelessly into empty space, and under the blanket she was shivering a little as if from the cold. Without taking off her jacket, Erica instinctively rushed over to Charlotte and knelt down on the floor by the sofa. She put Maja down on the floor beside her, and the baby seemed to sense the mood and lay perfectly still for a change.
'Oh, Charlotte, I'm so sorry.' Erica was crying and took Charlotte's face in her hands, but there was no sign of life in her empty gaze.
'Has she been like this the whole time?' Erica asked, turning to Niclas. He was still standing in the middle of the room, swaying a little. Finally he nodded and wearily rubbed his hand over his eyes. 'It's the medication. But as soon as we stop the pills she starts screaming. She sounds like a wounded animal. I just can't stand that sound.'
Erica turned back to Charlotte and stroked her hair tenderly. She didn't seem to have bathed or changed her clothes in days, and her body gave off a faint odour of sweat and fear. Her mouth moved as if she wanted to say something, but at first it was impossible to make out anything from the mumbling. After trying for a moment, Charlotte said in a hoarse voice, 'Couldn't make it. Should have called.'
Erica shook her head vigorously and continued stroking her friend's hair.
