The Lost Boy. Camilla Lackberg
Читать онлайн книгу.
which showed that her son was perfectly healthy. During his first year she slept no more than an hour at a time, because she kept getting up to make sure he was still breathing. As he got bigger, up until he started school, she would cut his food into small pieces so they wouldn’t get stuck in his throat and cause him to choke. And she had nightmares about cars driving right over his soft little body.
By the time he was a teenager, her dreams had become even worse, filled with alcoholic comas, drunken driving, and fist-fights. Sometimes she tossed and turned so much in bed that she woke Gunnar. One feverish nightmare after another until she forced herself to sit up and wait for Matte to come home, her gaze fixed first on the window, then on the telephone. Her heart gave a leap every time she heard someone outside, approaching the house.
The nights were a bit calmer after he moved away from home. Which was rather odd, because it seemed as if her fears should have grown when she was no longer able to keep watch over him. But she knew that he wouldn’t take any unnecessary risks. He was a cautious person – that much she’d managed to teach him. He was also considerate and would never think of hurting anyone. In her mind, this meant that no one, in turn, would ever try to harm him either.
She smiled at the memory of all the animals he had brought home over the years. Injured, abandoned, or generally in a bad way. Three cats, two hedgehogs that had been hit by a car, and a sparrow with an injured wing. Not to mention the snake that she happened to find when she was just about to put his newly laundered underwear in his drawer. After that episode, he had to swear to her that he’d leave all reptiles to their fate, no matter how injured or abandoned they might be. He had reluctantly agreed.
It had surprised Signe that he hadn’t become a veterinarian or a doctor. But he seemed to enjoy his studies at the business school, and from what she understood, he definitely had a head for numbers. He also seemed to like his job at the council. Yet there was something about him that worried her. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was, but the bad dreams had started up again. Every night she awoke, bathed in sweat, with fragments of images in her head. Something was amiss, but her tactful queries were merely met with silence. That was why she had decided to focus her efforts on getting him to eat. If only he would put on a few pounds, everything would probably be fine.
‘Wouldn’t you like some more?’ she ventured as Matte put down his fork. Half of the huge portion of food was still left on his plate.
‘That’s enough, Signe,’ said Gunnar. ‘Leave the boy alone.’
‘It’s okay,’ said Matte, giving them a wan smile.
Mamma’s boy. He didn’t want her to suffer a scolding for his sake, even though after forty years with her husband, she knew that Gunnar’s bark was worse than his bite. In fact, it would be hard to find a kinder man. She knew that the problem was hers, that she worried too much.
‘I’m sorry, Matte. Of course you don’t have to eat any more.’
She called him by the nickname that he’d had since he first learned to talk but couldn’t say his name properly. He’d called himself Matte, and everybody else had done the same.
‘Guess who’s home for a visit,’ she went on, cheerfully, reaching for the plates so she could clear the table.
‘I have no idea.’
‘Nathalie.’
Matte gave a start and looked at her.
‘Nathalie? My Nathalie?’
Gunnar chuckled. ‘I knew that would wake you up. You’ve always had a bit of a crush on her.’
‘Hey, knock it off.’
Signe suddenly pictured in her mind the teenage boy, a lock of hair falling into his eyes, as he told her with a stammer that he had a girlfriend.
‘I took some groceries over to her today,’ said Gunnar. ‘She’s over on Ghost Isle.’
‘Oh, don’t call it that.’ Signe shuddered. ‘Its name is Gråskär.’
‘When did she arrive?’ asked Matte.
‘Yesterday, I think. And she has the boy with her.’
‘How long is she staying?’
‘She said she doesn’t know.’ Gunnar stuck a wad of snuff under his upper lip and contentedly leaned back in his chair.
‘Was she … was she the same?’
Gunnar nodded. ‘Sure, of course she was just the same, our little Nathalie. Exactly the same. Although I thought she had a slightly sad look in her eyes, but maybe that’s my imagination. Maybe they had a quarrel back home. What do I know?’
‘Don’t go speculating about such matters,’ Signe scolded him. ‘Did you see the boy?’
‘No. Nathalie met me down at the dock, and I didn’t stay long. Why don’t you go out there and say hello?’ Gunnar said, turning to Matte. ‘I’m sure she’d be happy to have a visitor out there on Ghost Isle. Sorry. I mean, Gråskär,’ he added, giving his wife an annoyed look.
‘That’s all a bunch of nonsense and old superstitions. I don’t think we should be encouraging that sort of thing,’ said Signe, a deep furrow appearing between her brows.
‘Nathalie believes it,’ said Matte quietly. ‘She always said that she knew they were there.’
‘What do you mean by “they”?’ Much as Signe would have preferred to change the subject, she was curious to hear what Matte would say.
‘The dead. Nathalie said that she sometimes she saw them and heard them, but they didn’t mean any harm. They just ended up staying there.’
‘That’s awful. Now I think it’s time for dessert. I’ve made rhubarb pudding.’ Signe stood up abruptly. ‘Pappa’s right about one thing, though, even if he does talk a lot of drivel. It would make her happy to have you visit.’
Matte didn’t reply. He looked as if he were far away in his thoughts.
Emelie was terrified. She had never even seen the sea, let alone sailed on it in what seemed to be a very unstable boat. She had a tight grip on the railing. It felt as if she was being tossed forward and backward by the waves, with no chance of putting up any resistance or governing her own body. She sought Karl’s eye, but he was standing there with a resolute expression, staring out at what awaited them far ahead.
The words were still ringing in her ears. They were probably nothing more than the superstitious ramblings of an old woman, but she couldn’t help thinking about them. The woman had asked where they were headed when they loaded their belongings on to the small sailboat down at the Fjällbacka harbour.
‘Gråskär,’ Emelie had answered happily. ‘My husband Karl is the new lighthouse keeper on the island.’
The woman didn’t seem impressed. Instead, she had snorted and with a strange little smile she said, ‘Gråskär? Oh, I see. In these parts nobody calls it Gråskär.’
‘Is that right?’ Emelie had the feeling that she really shouldn’t ask, but her curiosity got the better of her. ‘So what do you call it then?’
At first the old woman didn’t reply. Then she lowered her voice and said, ‘In these parts we call it Ghost Isle.’
‘Ghost Isle?’ Emelie’s nervous laughter had carried over the water in the early morning haze. ‘How strange. Why?’
The old woman’s eyes glittered when she spoke. ‘Because it’s said that those who die out there never leave the island.’ Then she turned on her heel and