The Drowning

‘I think you’re right. It’s horrible to think that his body will float ashore somewhere or be discovered in the woods. But I have the same feeling you do. And it must be awful …’

‘Not to know, you mean?’ said Patrik, shifting his feet, which were getting hot underneath the heavy weight of the dog.

‘Well, just imagine not knowing where the person you love has gone. It’s the same thing for parents when a child goes missing. There’s an American website devoted to kids who have disappeared. Page after page of pictures of missing kids. All I can say is Jesus H. Christ.’

‘Something like that would kill me,’ said Patrik. He pictured his whirlwind of a daughter. The thought of her being taken from him was unbearable.

‘What on earth are you guys talking about? The atmosphere in here is positively funereal.’ Annika’s cheerful voice broke the dismal mood as she joined them at the table. The station’s youngest member, Martin Molin, came in right behind her, lured by all the voices coming from the kitchen and the smell of coffee. He was working only part-time now, since he was on paternity leave, and he seized every possible opportunity to hang out with his colleagues and take part in adult conversations.

‘We were discussing Magnus Kjellner,’ said Patrik, his tone of voice making it clear that the conversation was over. To make sure the others understood, he changed the subject.

‘How’s it going with the little girl?’

‘Oh, we got new pictures yesterday,’ said Annika, taking some photos out of the pocket of her tunic.

‘Look how big she’s getting.’ She put the pictures on the table, and Patrik and Gösta took turns looking at them. Martin had already been given a preview when he arrived that morning.

‘Ah, she’s so pretty,’ said Patrik.

Annika nodded in agreement. ‘She’s ten months old now.’

‘When do you two get to go there to collect her?’ Gösta asked with genuine interest. He was fully aware that he had played a part in convincing Annika and Lennart to seriously consider adoption. So he took a slightly proprietary interest in the little girl in the photographs.

‘Well, we’re getting some mixed messages,’ Annika told him. She gathered up the pictures and put them carefully back in her pocket. ‘But in a couple of months, I should think.’

‘It must seem like a long wait.’ Patrik got up and put his cup in the dishwasher.

‘Yes, it does. But at the same time … At least the process has been started. And we know that she’ll be ours.’

‘Yes, she certainly will,’ said Gösta. On impulse he put his hand on Annika’s and then snatched it away. ‘Right, back to work. Haven’t got time to sit around here chatting,’ he muttered in embarrassment, getting to his feet.

His three colleagues looked at him in amusement as he slouched out of the kitchen.

‘Christian!’ The publishing director, reeking of perfume, came over to give him a big hug.

Christian held his breath so he wouldn’t have to inhale the cloying scent. Gaby von Rosen was not known for subtlety. Everything was always excessive when it came to Gaby: too much hair, too much make-up, too much perfume, all combined with a fashion sense that, putting it politely, could best be described as startling. This evening, in honour of the occasion, she wore a shocking pink ensemble with a green cloth rose on the lapel, and teetered on dangerously high stilettos. But despite her slightly ridiculous appearance, as the head of Sweden’s hot new publishing house she was a force to be reckoned with. She had over thirty years’ experience in the field and an intellect as acute as her tongue was sharp. Those who underestimated her as a competitor never made the same mistake twice.

‘This is going to be such fun!’ Gaby held Christian at arm’s length as she beamed at him.

Christian, still struggling to breathe in the cloud of perfume, could only nod.

‘Lars-Erik and Ulla-Lena here at the hotel have been simply fantastic,’ she went on. ‘What delightful people! And the buffet looks wonderful. This feels like the perfect venue to launch your brilliant book. So how does it feel?’

Christian finally managed to extricate himself and took a step back.

‘Well, a little unreal, I have to admit. I’ve been working on this novel for so long, and now … well, now here it is.’ He glanced at the stacks of books on the table by the exit. He could read his own name on the spine of each copy, along with the title: The Mermaid. He felt his stomach flip. It was really happening.

‘So this is what we have in mind,’ Gaby said, tugging at his sleeve and pulling him along. Christian followed, offering no resistance. ‘We’ll start by meeting with the journalists who are here, so they can talk to you in peace and quiet. We’re very pleased with the media response. Journalists from Göteborgs Posten, Göteborgs Tidningen, Bohusläningen, and Strömstads Tidning – they’re all here. None from the national newspapers, but that’s all right, considering today’s rave review in Svenska Dagbladet.’

‘A review?’ said Christian as he was escorted to a small dais next to the stage where he would talk to the press.

‘I’ll tell you later,’ said Gaby, pushing him down on to a chair next to the wall.

He tried to regain some control of the situation, but he felt as if he’d been sucked into a tumble drier with no possibility of escape. The sight of Gaby already on her way out, leaving him behind, merely reinforced that feeling. Assistants were dashing about, setting the tables. Nobody paid any attention to him. He permitted himself to close his eyes for a moment. He thought about his book, The Mermaid, and all the hours he’d spent sitting at the computer. Hundreds, thousands of hours. He thought about her, about the Mermaid.

‘Christian Thydell?’

A voice roused him from his reverie and he looked up. The man standing before him was holding his hand out and seemed to be waiting for him to respond. So he stood up and shook hands.

‘Birger Jansson, Strömstads Tidning.’ The man set a big camera bag on the floor.

‘Oh, er, welcome. Please have a seat,’ said Christian, not sure how to act. He looked around for Gaby, but caught only a glimpse of her shocking pink outfit, fluttering about near the entrance.

‘They’re really putting a lot of PR behind your book,’ said Jansson, looking around.

‘Yes, it seems so,’ said Christian. Then both of them fell silent and fidgeted a bit.

‘Shall we get started? Or should we wait for the others?’

Christian gave the reporter a blank look. How should he know? He’d never done anything like this before. But Jansson seemed to take the whole situation in his stride as he placed a tape recorder on the table and switched it on.

‘So,’ he said, fixing Christian with a penetrating gaze. ‘This is your first novel, right?’

Christian wondered whether he was supposed to do more than confirm this statement. ‘Yes, it is,’ he said, clearing his throat.

‘I liked it a lot,’ said Jansson in a gruff tone of voice that belied the compliment.

‘Thank you,’ said Christian.

‘What did you intend to say with this novel?’ Jansson checked the tape recorder to make sure it was recording properly.

‘What did I intend to say? I don’t really know. It’s a novel, a story that I’ve had in the back of my mind and that needed to come out.’

‘It’s an awfully dark story. I’d almost call it bleak,’ said Jansson, studying Christian as if trying to peer inside the deepest recesses of his soul. ‘Is this how you view society?’

‘I don’t know if it’s my view of society that I was trying to communicate through the book,’ said Christian, searching frantically for something intelligent to say. He’d never thought of his writing in this way before. The story had been part of him for so long, inside his head, and finally he’d felt compelled to put it down on paper. But did it have anything to do with what he wanted to say about society? The thought had never even occurred to him.

Finally Gaby came to his rescue, arriving with the other reporters in tow, and Jansson turned off his tape recorder as they all greeted one another and sat down around the table. The whole process took several minutes, and Christian used the opportunity to gather his thoughts.

Gaby then motioned for everyone’s attention.

‘Welcome to this gathering in honour of the new superstar in the literary firmament, Christian Thydell. All of us at the publishing company are incredibly proud of producing his first novel, The Mermaid. And we think this marks the beginning of a long and amazing writing career. Christian hasn’t yet seen any of the reviews. So it’s with great joy that I can tell you, Christian, that today there were fantastic reviews in Svenska Dagbladet, Dagens Nyheter, and Arbetarbladet, just to name a few. Let me read a few quotes to all of you.’

She put on her reading glasses and reached for a stack of papers lying in front of her on the table. A pink highlighter had been used to mark phrases against the white newsprint.

‘“A linguistically virtuoso performance depicting the plight of ordinary people without losing sight of the larger perspective.” That was from Svenska Dagbladet,’ Gaby explained with a nod to Christian. Then she turned to the next review. ‘“It’s both pleasant and painful to read Christian Thydell’s book, since his pared-down prose shines light on society’s false promises of security and democracy. His words cut like a knife through flesh, muscle and conscience, which kept me reading with feverish urgency and seeking, like a fakir, more of the torturous but wonderfully cleansing pain.” That’s from Dagens Nyheter,’ said Gaby, taking off her glasses as she handed the small stack of reviews to Christian.

In stunned disbelief, he took the reviews. He’d heard the words, and it felt good to be showered with praise, but he honestly didn’t understand what the critics were talking about. All he’d done was write about her, told her story. Let out the words and everything about her in an outpouring that had occasionally left him completely drained. It wasn’t his intention to say anything about society. He just wanted to say something about her.

But he bit back the protests. No one would understand, and maybe it was better just to let things be. He’d never be able to explain.

‘How marvellous,’ he said, hearing how the words fell meaninglessly from his lips.

Then came more questions. More praise and comments about his book. And he realized that he couldn’t give a sensible answer to a single question. How could he describe something that had filled the smallest corners of his life? Something that wasn’t merely a story – it was also about survival. About pain. He did the best he could, trying to speak clearly and thoughtfully. Apparently he succeeded, because Gaby kept nodding her approval.

When the interview session was finally over, all Christian wanted to do was go home. He felt totally drained. But he was forced to linger on in the beautiful dining room of the Grand Hotel. He took a deep breath and prepared himself to meet the guests who had started to stream in. He smiled, but it was a smile that cost him more effort than anyone would ever know.

‘Could you manage to stay sober tonight?’ Erik Lind quietly snapped at his wife so that the others waiting in the queue to get into the party wouldn’t hear him.

‘Could you manage to keep your hands to yourself tonight?’ Louise replied, not bothering to whisper.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Erik. ‘And lower your voice, please.’

Louise eyed her husband coldly. He was an elegant man – that much she couldn’t deny. And once upon a time that had attracted her. They’d met at the university, and plenty of girls had looked at her with envy because she’d nabbed Erik Lind. Since then he had slowly but surely fucked away any love, respect, or trust she’d ever felt for him. Not with her. God, no. On the other hand, he didn’t seem to have any problem finding willing lovers outside of the marriage bed.

‘Hi, there! You’re here too? How nice!’ Cecilia Jansdotter made her way over to them and gave them both the obligatory kiss on the cheek. She was Louise’s hairdresser, and she and Erik had also been lovers for the past year. But of course they didn’t think Louise knew about that.

‘Hi, Cecilia,’ said Louise with a smile. She was a sweet girl, and if Louise held a grudge against everyone who had slept with her husband, she wouldn’t have been able to carry on living in Fjällbacka. Besides, she’d stopped caring years ago. She had the girls. And that wonderful invention: wine in a box. What did she need Erik for?

‘It’s so exciting that we have another author here in Fjällbacka! First Erica Falck, and now Christian.’ Cecilia was practically jumping up and down. ‘Have either of you read his book?’

‘I only read business journals,’ said Erik.

Louise rolled her eyes. How typical of Erik to flirt by saying that he never read books.

‘I’m hoping that we’ll get to take a copy home with us,’ she said, drawing her coat tighter around her. She hoped the queue would move a little faster so they could get inside where it was warm.

‘Yes, Louise is the big reader in the family. But then, what else is there to do when you don’t have to work? Right, sweetheart?’

Louise shrugged, letting the spiteful remark roll right off her. It wouldn’t do any good to point out that it was Erik who had insisted that she stay home while the girls were young. Or that she slaved from morning to night to make sure that everything ran smoothly in the well-ordered home that he took for granted.

The small talk continued as they slowly moved forward. At last they were able to enter the lobby and hang up their coats before descending the stairs to the dining hall.

With Erik’s eyes burning into her back, Louise headed straight for the bar.

‘Now don’t wear yourself out,’ Patrik told Erica, giving her a kiss before she swept out the door, her stomach leading the way.

Maja whimpered a bit when she saw her mother disappear, but she stopped fussing as soon as Patrik set her down in front of the TV to watch Bolibompa. The show with the green dragon had just started. Maja had been much more fretful and difficult to handle during the past few months, and the fits of temper that followed whenever she was told ‘no’ were enough to make any diva envious. Patrik could partly understand. She must feel the excited anticipation, combined with apprehension, regarding the arrival of her two siblings. Good Lord. Twins. Even though they’d known from the very first ultrasound, done in Erica’s eighteenth week, he still hadn’t really been able to take in the news. Sometimes he wondered how they were going to manage. It had been hard enough with one baby; how were they going to cope with two? How would they handle the breastfeeding and trying to get some sleep, and everything else? And they needed to buy a new car that was big enough for three kids and their pushchairs. And that was just one of many matters to consider.

Patrik sat down on the sofa next to Maja and stared into space. He’d been so tired lately. It felt as though his energy was just ebbing away, and some mornings it was all he could do to haul himself out of bed. But maybe that wasn’t so strange. In addition to everything going on at home, with Erica so worn out and Maja transformed into a tiny defiant monster, he was having a hard time at work. In the years since he’d met Erica, he and his colleagues had handled several difficult murder investigations; the grim nature of his work and the constant battle with his boss, Bertil Mellberg, was beginning to take its toll on Patrik.

And now they were dealing with Magnus Kjellner’s disappearance. Patrik didn’t know whether it was experience or instinct, but he was convinced that something had happened to the man. Whether he was the victim of an accident or foul play, it was impossible to say, but Patrik would bet his police badge that Kjellner was no longer alive. The fact that every Wednesday he had to meet with the man’s wife, who looked smaller and shabbier each time, had really begun to wear on him. The police had done absolutely everything they could, but he still couldn’t get the sight of Cia Kjellner’s face out of his mind.

‘Pappa!’ Maja roused him from his reveries, using vocal powers that were far stronger than she knew. She was pointing her finger at the TV, and he saw at once what had caused the crisis. He must have been lost in thought much longer than he realized, because Bolibompa was over, replaced by a show for grown-ups that didn’t interest Maja in the least.

‘Pappa will fix it,’ he said, holding up his hands. ‘How about Pippi Longstocking?’

Since Pippi was currently the big favourite, Patrik knew what his daughter’s answer would be. He got out the DVD, and when Pippi in the South Seas began to play, he sat down next to Maja again, putting his arm around her. Like a warm little animal, she snuggled happily into his armpit. Five minutes later Patrik was asleep.

Christian was sweating profusely. Gaby had just told him that it would soon be time for him to go up on stage. The dining hall wasn’t exactly packed, but about sixty guests with expectant expressions on their faces were seated at the tables, with plates of food and glasses of beer or wine in front of them. Christian himself hadn’t been able to eat a thing, but he was drinking red wine. He was now on his third glass, even though he knew that he shouldn’t be drinking so much. It wouldn’t be good if he ended up slurring his words into the microphone when he was interviewed. But without the wine he wouldn’t be able to function at all.

He was surveying the room when he felt a hand on his arm.

‘Hi. How’s it going? You look a little tense.’ Erica was peering at him with concern.

‘I guess I’m just nervous,’ he admitted, finding consolation in telling someone about it.

‘I know exactly how you feel,’ said Erica. ‘I made my first public appearance at an event for first-time authors in Stockholm, and they practically had to scrape me off the floor afterwards. And I can’t remember a single thing I said when I was on stage.’

‘I have a feeling they’re going to have to scrape me off the floor too,’ said Christian, touching his hand to his throat. For a second he thought about the letters, and then he was overwhelmed by panic. His knees buckled, and it was only thanks to the fact that Erica was holding on to him that he didn’t fall on his face.

‘Upsy-daisy,’ said Erica. ‘Looks like you’ve had a few stiff drinks. You probably shouldn’t have any more before your appearance.’ She carefully removed the glass of red wine from Christian’s hand and set it on the nearest table. ‘I promise you that everything will go just fine. Gaby will start off by introducing you and your novel. Then I’ll ask you a few questions – and you and I have already discussed what they’ll be. Trust me. The only problem is going to be hauling this body of mine up on stage.’

She laughed, and Christian joined in. Not wholeheartedly, and he sounded a bit shrill, but the joke worked. Some of the tension eased out of him, and he could feel himself breathing again. He pushed all thought of the letters far away. He wasn’t going to let that affect him tonight. The Mermaid had been given a voice through his book, and now he was done with her.

‘Hi, honey.’ Sanna came over to join them, her eyes sparkling as she looked around the hall. Christian knew that this was a big moment for her. Maybe even bigger than for him.

‘How lovely you look,’ he said, and she basked in the praise. She really did look lovely. He knew that he’d been lucky to meet her. She put up with a great deal from him, more than most people would have been willing to endure. It wasn’t her fault that she couldn’t fill the empty space inside of him. Probably nobody could. He put his arm around her and kissed her hair.

‘How sweet you two are!’ Gaby came striding over to them, her high heels clacking. ‘Someone has sent you flowers, Christian.’

He stared at the bouquet she was holding. It was beautiful but simple, composed solely of white lilies.

With fingers that trembled uncontrollably, he reached for the white envelope fastened to the bouquet. He was shaking so much that he could hardly open it, and he was barely aware of the surprised glances from the women standing around him.

The card was also very simple. A plain white card of heavy stock, the message written in black ink, with the same elegant handwriting used in the letters. He stared at the words. And then everything went black before his eyes.

2

She was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. She smelled so good, and her long hair was tied back with a white ribbon. It shone so brightly that he almost felt the need to squint. He took a tentative step towards her, uncertain whether he would be allowed to partake of all this beauty. She held out her arms to give him permission, and with quick steps he leapt into her embrace. Away from the blackness, away from the evil. Instead he was enveloped in whiteness, in light, in a floral scent and with silky soft hair against his cheek.

‘Are you my mother now?’ he said at last, reluctantly taking a step back. She nodded. ‘Really?’ He was waiting for someone to come in and, with some brusque remark, smash everything to pieces, telling him that he’d only been dreaming. And that this wonderful creature couldn’t possibly be the mother of somebody like him.

But no voice spoke. Instead, she simply nodded, and he couldn’t help himself. He threw himself into her arms again and never, ever wanted to leave. Somewhere inside his head there were other pictures, other scents and sounds that wanted to surface, but they were drowned out by the floral perfume and the rustling of her dress. He pushed those images away. Forced them to disappear, to be replaced by all that was new and amazing. All that was unbelievable.

He looked up at his new mother, and his heart beat twice as fast with joy. When she took his hand and led him away from there, he went with her quite willingly.

‘I heard that things took a rather dramatic turn last night. What was Christian thinking, getting drunk at an event like that?’ Kenneth Bengtsson was late arriving at the office after a rough morning at home. He tossed his jacket on the sofa, but a disapproving glance from Erik made him pick it up again and hang it on a hook in the hall.

‘You’re right. It was undeniably a lamentable end to the evening,’ Erik replied. ‘On the other hand, Louise seemed determined to escape into an alcoholic haze, so at least I was spared that experience.’

‘Are things really that bad?’ asked Kenneth, looking at Erik. It was rare for Erik to confide anything personal to him. That was how he’d always been. Both when they were kids, playing together, and now that they were adults. Erik treated Kenneth as if he barely tolerated him, as if he was doing the man a favour by deigning to spend time with him. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Kenneth actually had something to offer Erik, their friendship would have been over long ago. That was exactly what had happened while Erik was studying at the university and working in Göteborg, while Kenneth had stayed in Fjällbacka and started up his small accounting firm. A company that over the years had become a very successful business.

Because Kenneth was, in fact, quite talented. He was aware that he wasn’t particularly good-looking or charming, and he had no illusions about having more than average intelligence. But he did have a remarkable ability to work wonders when it came to numbers. He could juggle with the sums in a profit-and-loss report or balance sheet as if he were the David Beckham of the accounting world. Combined with his ability to persuade the tax authorities to see his side of things, Kenneth had suddenly, and for the first time ever, become a highly valuable person for Erik. He was the natural choice when Erik needed an associate as he entered the construction market, which had lately become such a lucrative enterprise on the west coast of Sweden. Erik had, of course, made it very clear that Kenneth needed to know his place, since he owned only a third of the company and not half – although he really should have done, considering what he contributed to the firm. But that didn’t matter. Kenneth wasn’t interested in amassing wealth or power. He was content to work with the things he was good at, and to be Erik’s associate.