LITMIR.BIZ

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      ‘What did you do, Erica?’ He was holding a tub of Lätt & Lagom margarine in his hand as he looked her in the eye.

      ‘I think it must have leaked out because of me.’

      ‘How did that happen? Who did you talk to?’

      Now even Maja was aware of the tension in the kitchen. She sat on the chair, staring at her mother. Erica gulped and then told him. ‘Gaby.’

      ‘Gaby!’ Patrik nearly choked. ‘You told Gaby? You might as well have rung up GT yourself.’

      ‘I didn’t think that –’

      ‘No, I’m quite certain you didn’t. What does Christian say about all this?’ asked Patrik, pointing at the blaring headlines.

      ‘I don’t know,’ said Erica. She felt her insides tie themselves in knots whenever she thought about how Christian would react.

      ‘As a police officer, I have to tell you that this is the worst thing that could have happened. This kind of attention will not only incite the person who sent those letters, but new letter-writers as well.’

      ‘Don’t yell at me. I know it was a dumb thing to do.’ Erica could feel the tears rising. She cried easily even under normal circumstances, and all the raging hormones of her pregnancy didn’t make things any better. ‘I just wasn’t thinking. I phoned Gaby to find out whether they’d received any threatening letters at the publishing house, and I knew instantly that it was stupid to tell her anything about it. But by then it was too late.’

      Patrik handed Erica a tissue and then put his arms around her, stroking her hair. He whispered in her ear:

      ‘Don’t be upset, sweetheart. I’m sorry I yelled. I know that you didn’t mean for this to happen. Hush now …’ He rocked her in his arms until her sobs began to fade.

      ‘I never thought that she would …’

      ‘I know, I know. But she’s a different sort of person than you are. And you need to learn that not everybody thinks the same way.’ He held her at arm’s length and looked at her.

      Erica dried her eyes on the tissue he’d given her.

      ‘What should I do now?’

      ‘You need to talk to Christian. Apologize and explain.’

      ‘But I can’t …’

      ‘Don’t argue. It’s the only solution.’

      ‘You’re right,’ said Erica. ‘But I have to say, I’m dreading it. And I’m going to have a serious talk with Gaby.’

      ‘Above all, you need to stop and think next time before you say anything, and consider who you’re talking to. Gaby’s top priority is her publishing company, and the rest of you come second. That’s just the way it is.’

      ‘Okay, okay, I know that. You don’t need to harp on it.’ Erica glared at her husband.

      ‘We’ll leave it at that, then,’ said Patrik, and he went back to putting away the groceries.

      ‘Have you had a chance to take a closer look at the letters?’

      ‘No, I haven’t had a spare moment,’ said Patrik.

      ‘But you’ll do it, won’t you?’ Erica persisted.

      Patrik nodded as he started cutting up vegetables for dinner.

      ‘Sure, of course I will. But it would be easier if Christian were cooperating. Then I could have a look at the other letters too.’

      ‘So talk to him about it. Maybe you can persuade him.’

      ‘Then he’ll realize that you’re the one who told me about it.’

      ‘And I’ve hung him out to dry in one of Sweden’s biggest newspapers, so you’d better watch out, because he’s probably still wishing that I’d go to hell.’

      ‘It won’t be that bad.’

      ‘If I were in his shoes, I’d never speak to me again.’

      ‘Stop being so dramatic and pessimistic,’ said Patrik, lifting Maja on to the counter so she could sit there and see what he was doing. She loved to watch him cook and always wanted to ‘help out’. ‘Go over to see him tomorrow and explain what happened. Tell him it was never your intention for things to get out like this. Then I’ll have a talk with him and try to get him to cooperate with us.’ He handed Maja a slice of cucumber, which she instantly started gnawing on, using the few but very sharp teeth she had.

      ‘Tomorrow? Okay,’ sighed Erica.

      ‘Yes, tomorrow,’ said Patrik, bending down to give his wife a kiss on the lips.

      Ludvig found himself constantly casting glances at the side of the football pitch. It just wasn’t the same without his father.

      He had been to every practice session, no matter what the weather. Football was their thing. It was the reason their friendship had lasted, in spite of Ludvig’s determination to break free of his parents. Because they had actually been friends, he and his father. Of course they’d quarrelled now and then, just like all fathers and sons. But in spite of it, they had still remained friends.

      Ludvig closed his eyes, picturing his father in his mind. Wearing jeans and a woollen sweater with ‘Fjällbacka’ across the chest. It was the sweater he’d worn so often, to his wife’s regret. His hands stuffed in his pockets and his eyes fixed on the ball. And on Ludvig. But he never yelled at his son – not like the other fathers who turned up at practice and football matches, spending their time screaming from the sidelines. ‘You better bloody well pull yourself together, Oscar!’ or ‘Damn it, get moving, Danne!’ Nothing like that. Not from his father. All he ever said was: ‘Good, Ludvig!’ ‘Great pass!’ ‘You show them, Ludde!’

      Out of the corner of his eye Ludvig saw that the ball was about to be passed to him, and he automatically kicked it onward. He no longer took any joy in playing football. But he still did his best, running hard and fighting to win in spite of the winter chill. He could have easily thrown in the towel and given up. Stayed away from practice, saying to hell with it and the whole team. No one would have blamed him; everyone would have understood. Except his father. Giving up had never been an option for him.

      So here Ludvig was. One of the team. But all his joy was missing, and the sideline was empty. His father was gone. He knew that now. Father was gone.

      6

       He wasn’t allowed to ride in the caravan. And that was only the first of many disappointments during the so-called holiday. Nothing turned out the way he had hoped. The silence, broken only by harsh words, seemed even more oppressive when it didn’t have a whole house to move around in. Being on holiday felt like having more time for quarrels, more time for Mother’s outbursts. And Father seemed even smaller and greyer.

       This was the first time he went along, but as he understood it, every year Mother and Father would take the caravan to the place with the peculiar name. Fjällbacka. The name meant ‘Mountain Hill’ in Swedish, but he saw no mountains and only a few hills. The ground was completely flat in the camping area where they parked the caravan, squeezed in among scores of other campers. He wasn’t sure that he liked it. But Father had explained that Mother’s family was from the area, and that was why she wanted to go there.

       But that was strange too, because he didn’t meet any relatives. During one of the arguments inside the cramped space of the caravan, he finally understood that someone called the Old Bitch lived here, and that she was what his mother meant by ‘family’. What a funny name that was. The Old Bitch. But it didn’t sound as if his mother cared much for her, because her voice got even harsher when she talked about the woman, and they never did see her. So why did they have to come to this place at all?

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