The memory made the anger rise up in her throat, and she forced herself to smile at Stig. At least he needed her. And so did Niclas, to some extent, even though he didn't know it himself. Charlotte had no idea how good she had it. Instead she was always grumbling that her husband never helped out, that he didn't do his part when it came to the children. Ungrateful, that's what she was. But Lilian had also begun to feel deeply disappointed with Niclas. He would come home and snap at her and talk about moving. But she knew quite well where these whims came from. She simply hadn't thought he'd be so easily influenced.
'You look so stern,' said Stig, reaching for her hand. She pretended not to notice and instead carefully smoothed out the bedspread.
Stig always took Charlotte's side, so Lilian couldn't say anything to him about what she'd just been thinking. Instead she told him, 'There's an awful commotion next door. Police officers and police cars everywhere. This is no fun, let me tell you, having such people living so close.'
Stig sat up with a start. The movement made him grimace and grab his stomach. But his face was filled with hope. 'It must be about Sara. Do you think they've found out anything about Sara?'
Lilian nodded. 'Yes, it wouldn't surprise me. Why else would they send out a whole contingent?'
'It would be a blessing for Charlotte and Niclas if we could have an end to all this.'
'Yes, and you know how it has been upsetting me too, Stig. Now maybe I can have peace in my soul again.'
She let Stig pat her hand, and his voice was as loving as usual when he said, 'Of course, darling. You have such a kind heart, this has been a terrible time for you.' He turned her hand over and kissed her palm.
She let him hold her hand for a second longer, but then pulled it back. Brusquely she said, 'It's nice to hear someone worrying about me for a change. Let's just hope that we're right, and that they took Kaj away because of Sara.'
'What else do you think it could be?' Stig sounded surprised.
'Well, I don't know. I didn't really think about it. But I of all people know what he's capable of -'
'When is the funeral?' Stig interrupted.
Lilian got up from the side of the bed. 'We're still waiting to hear when we can get the body back. Probably next week sometime.'
'Please don't use the word 'body'. It's our Sara we're talking about.'
'She's actually my grandchild, not yours,' Lilian snapped.
'I loved her too, and you know it,' said Stig gently.
'Yes, dear, I know. Forgive me. All this is just so hard for me, and nobody seems to understand.' She wiped away a tear, noticing the remorse on Stig's face.
'No, I'm the one who should ask for forgiveness. That was stupid of me. Can you forgive me, darling?'
'Of course,' said Lilian magnanimously. 'And now I think you should rest and not think so much about all this. I'll go downstairs and make some tea and bring you a cup. Then maybe you can sleep for a while afterwards.'
'What have I done to deserve you?' said Stig to his wife with a smile.
It wasn't easy for Mellberg to concentrate on work. Not because he had ever prioritized that part of his life, but he usually was able to get at least a little bit done. And the situation that Ernst had provoked should have taken up a larger part of his thoughts. But since last Saturday nothing was the same. Back home in his flat the boy was playing video games. The new ones that he'd bought him yesterday. Mellberg had always kept a tight control on his wallet and yet he had suddenly felt an irresistible urge to be generous. And video games were clearly what stood at the top of the list, so video games it would be. Mellberg had bought an Xbox and three games, and even though he'd been shocked at the price, he hadn't balked.
Because the boy was his, after all. Simon, his son. If he'd had any doubts before, they were swept aside as soon as he saw him step off the train. It was like seeing himself as a young lad. The same well-fed physique, the same strong facial features. The emotions aroused in him were astonishing. Mellberg was still shocked that he was capable of such deep feelings. He had always taken pride in the fact that he didn't need anyone. Well, with the possible exception of his mother.
She had always pointed out that it was a sin and a shame that such excellent genes as his weren't going to be passed on. And on that she'd undoubtedly had a point. It was one of the foremost reasons that he wished that his mother could have met his son. To show her that she was right. All it took was a glance at the boy to see that he'd inherited many of his father's characteristics. The apple certainly didn't fall far from the tree. The boy's mother had said in her letter that he was lazy, unmotivated, insubordinate, and did miserably in school. But that said more about her child- rearing ability than about the boy. He just needed to spend a little time with his father, a manly role model. It was surely only a matter of time before he'd make a man out of him.
Naturally he thought that Simon at least could have said 'thank you' when he gave him the video games, but the poor boy was probably so shocked to get anything as a gift that he didn't know what to say. Lucky that Mellberg was such a good judge of people. It wouldn't be productive to force anything at this stage; he knew that much about raising children. Although he had no practical experience in the subject, he had to admit, but how hard could it be? It was probably only a matter of using common sense. The boy was a teenager, after all, and people said that was going to be difficult, but in Mellberg's opinion it was simply a matter of finding the appropriate language: slang for peasant farmers and Latin for scholars. And if there was anyone who knew how to talk to people on their level, it was him. He was convinced that he would have no problem at all.
Voices out in the corridor announced that Patrik and Martin were back. Hopefully with that paedophile jerk in tow. This was one interrogation he intended to participate in, for a change. And this time he'd be forced to put away the kid gloves.
FJALLBACKA 1928
It began like any other day. The boys had run over to the neighbours' in the morning, and she'd been lucky that they stayed there until evening. The old woman had even felt sorry for the boys and fed them, so she got out of fixing lunch, even though it usually only entailed making a couple of open sandwiches. This turn of events had put her in such a good mood that she condescended to mop the floor. So when evening came she felt sure of getting some well-earned praise from her husband. Even though she didn't particularly care what he thought, she still craved attention and she looked on praise as a luxury.
By the time she heard Anders coming up the front steps, Karl and Johan were already asleep, and she was sitting at the kitchen table reading a women's magazine. She looked up at him distractedly and nodded, but then gave a start. He didn't look as tired and downhearted as he usually did when he came home; he had a gleam in his eye that she hadn't seen in a long time. A vague feeling of uneasiness awoke inside her.
He sank down on one of the wooden chairs facing her, folded his hands and rested them on the worn tabletop.
'Agnes,' he said, and then stopped. The silence lasted long enough for the unpleasant feeling in her stomach to grow into a lump. He obviously had something on his mind, and if there was anything she had learned in her life, it was that surprises were seldom good.
'Agnes,' he said again, 'I've been thinking a lot about our future, and about our family, and I've come to the conclusion that we need a change.'
All right, so far she was following him. She just couldn't envision what he'd be able to do to change her life for the better.
Anders continued with obvious pride. 'So that's why I've taken on as much extra work as I could this past year, and I put away all the money so I could buy us a one-way ticket.'
