The Drowning. Camilla Lackberg
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A beautiful, warm darkness that would envelop her for ever, if she let it. But through her tears she saw those brown eyes and that blond hair, and she knew that she couldn’t give up.
‘The cake,’ she sobbed, trying to get up. Ludvig helped her to her feet and then took the tube of icing out of her hand.
‘I’ll fix it, Mamma. Why don’t you go and lie down while I take care of the cake?’
He stroked her cheek. He was thirteen, but no longer a child. He was his father now. He was Magnus – her rock. She knew that she shouldn’t allow him to take on that role; he was still too young. But she didn’t have the energy to do anything else but trade roles with him.
She dried her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt while Ludvig got out a knife and carefully scraped off the lumpy icing from his birthday cake. The last thing Cia saw before she left the kitchen was her son concentrating hard to shape the first letter of his own name. L, as in Ludvig.
3
‘You’re my handsome little boy, do you know that?’ said Mother as she carefully combed his hair.
He merely nodded. Yes, he knew that. He was Mother’s handsome little boy. She’d said that over and over ever since he’d been allowed to come home with them, and he never grew tired of hearing it. Sometimes he thought about how things had been before. About the darkness, the loneliness. But all he had to do was take one look at the beautiful apparition who was now his mother, and everything else disappeared, slipped away, and dissolved. As if it had never existed.
He had just climbed out of the bath, and his mother wrapped him in the green robe with the yellow flowers.
‘Would my little darling like some ice cream?’
‘You’re spoiling him.’ Father’s voice came from the doorway.
He huddled inside the terry-cloth robe and pulled up the hood in order to hide from the harsh tone of the words that ricocheted off the bathroom tiles. Hiding from the blackness that rose up to the surface again.
‘All I’m saying is that you’re not doing him any favours by spoiling him like that.’
‘Are you implying that I don’t know how to raise our son?’ Mother’s eyes turned dark, bottomless. As if she wanted to obliterate Father by simply looking at him. And, as usual, her anger seemed to make Father’s own wrath melt away. He seemed to shrink and shrivel up. Becoming a little grey father.
‘You know best,’ he muttered and left, his eyes on the floor. Then they heard the sound of his footsteps fading and the front door quietly closing. Father was going out for a walk again.
‘We won’t pay him any mind,’ whispered Mother, pressing her lips close to his ear hidden under the green terry-cloth. ‘Because you and I love each other. It’s just you and me.’
He pressed close to her like a little animal and allowed her to comfort him.
‘Just you and me,’ he whispered.
‘I won’t! I don’t wanna!’ cried Maja, using up most of her scant vocabulary when Patrik desperately tried to leave her with Ewa, the day-care teacher, on Friday morning. His daughter clung to his trouser legs, howling, until finally he managed to prise her fingers loose, one after the other. His heart ached when she was carried off, still holding her arms out to him. Her tearful ‘Pappa!’ echoed in his head as he walked back to the car. For a long moment he just sat there, staring out the windscreen, holding the car keys in his hand. This had been going on for two months now, and it was no doubt Maja’s way of reacting to Erika’s pregnancy.
Patrik was the one who had to bear the brunt of this struggle every morning. He had actually volunteered for the job. It was just too hard for Erika to get Maja dressed and undressed. And squatting down to help the toddler tie her shoelaces was unthinkable. So there was really no other option. But the daily tussle was beginning to wear on Patrik’s nerves, since it started well before they even reached the day-care centre. As soon as it was time to get dressed in the morning, Maja would refuse to cooperate. Patrik was ashamed to admit that sometimes he got so frustrated that he would grab her a bit brusquely, making her scream at the top of her lungs. Afterwards he felt like the world’s worst parent.
Tiredly he rubbed his eyes, took a deep breath, and turned the key in the ignition. But instead of driving toward Tanumshede, he impulsively turned off and headed for the residential area beyond Kullen. He parked in front of the house belonging to the Kjellner family and, feeling a bit unsure of himself, walked up to the front door. He really should have notified them that he was coming, but it was too late now, since he was already here. He raised his hand and gave a sharp rap with his knuckles on the white-painted wooden door. A Christmas wreath was still hanging there; apparently no one had thought to take it down.
Not a sound came from inside the house, so Patrik knocked again. Maybe no one was home. But then he heard footsteps, and Cia opened the door. Her whole body froze when she saw him, and he hurried to shake his head.
‘No, that’s not why I’m here,’ he told her, and they both knew what he meant. Her shoulders slumped and she stepped aside to allow him to come in.
Patrik took off his shoes and hung his jacket on one of the few hooks that wasn’t already in use, holding coats and jackets belonging to the Kjellner kids.
‘I just thought I’d drop by for a chat,’ he said, suddenly uncertain as to how to present what amounted to little more than vague speculations.
Cia nodded and led the way to the kitchen, which was to the right of the entry. Patrik followed. He’d been here before on a couple of occasions. After Magnus disappeared, they had sat at the kitchen table and gone over everything again and again. He had asked Cia questions about things that should never have been disclosed, but such things had ceased to be private matters the minute Magnus Kjellner walked out the front door and didn’t return.
The house looked unchanged. Pleasant and ordinary, a bit untidy, with traces of messy kids everywhere. But the last time Patrik and Cia had sat here together, there had still been a sense of hope. Now resignation had settled over the entire house. Also over Cia.
‘There’s some cake left. It was Ludvig’s birthday yesterday,’ said Cia listlessly. She got up to take out a quarter of layer cake from the fridge. Patrik tried to protest, but Cia was already setting plates and forks on the table, and he realized that he would have to have cake for lunch today.
‘How old is he now?’ asked Patrik as he cut himself as thin a piece as seemed polite.
‘Thirteen,’ said Cia, with a hint of a smile on her face as she too served herself a small piece of cake. Patrik wished he could get her to eat more, considering how thin she’d become over the past few months.
‘That’s a great age. Or maybe not,’ he said, hearing how strained he sounded. The whipped cream from the cake seemed to swell in his mouth.
‘He’s so much like his father,’ said Cia, her fork clanging against her plate. She set it down and looked at Patrik. ‘What is it you want?’
He cleared his throat. ‘I may be really off base, but I know that you want us to do everything possible, so you’ll have to forgive me if –’
‘Just say what you need to say,’ Cia interrupted him.
‘All right. Well, there’s something that I’ve been wondering about. Magnus was friends with Christian Thydell, wasn’t he? How did they happen to meet?’
Cia looked at him in surprise, but she didn’t counter with any questions of her own. Instead she paused to think about what he’d asked.
‘I