The Lost Boy. Camilla Lackberg

…

      She found herself in his arms. She didn’t quite know how that happened, or who took the first step. All of a sudden his arms were around her, and his rough sweater was scratchy against her cheek. Drawn into his embrace she felt safe, and she breathed in his familiar scent, which she hadn’t smelled for so many years. Matte’s scent.

      ‘Hi, Nathalie.’ He hugged her even harder, as if trying to keep her from falling, and he succeeded. She wanted to stay there for ever, touching everything that had been hers so long ago but that had vanished in all the confusion of darkness and desperation. Finally he released her, holding her away as he studied her face, as if seeing it for the very first time.

      ‘You look just the same,’ he said. But Nathalie could see in his eyes that it wasn’t true. She wasn’t the same; she was someone else. It was evident in her face, in the lines etched around her eyes and mouth, and she knew that he could tell. She loved him for pretending otherwise. He’d always been so good at that – at pretending bad things would go away if only you closed your eyes tight enough.

      ‘Come on,’ she said, holding out her hand to him. He took it, and then they walked up to the house.

      ‘The island looks the same as always.’ The wind snatched at his voice, carrying it out over the cliffs.

      ‘Yes. Here, nothing has changed.’ She wanted to say more, but Matte stepped inside. He had to duck as he went in the door, and then the moment was gone. That was how things had always been with Matte. She could remember words that she’d carried inside her and wanted to say to him, but they had refused to come out, rendering her mute. And making him sad. She knew that. Sad that she shut him out whenever the darkness descended.

      She couldn’t let him in now either, but she could allow him to sit here in the house with her. At least for a while. She needed his warm presence. She had been frozen for so long.

      ‘Would you like some tea?’ She took out a saucepan without waiting for him to reply. She needed to keep busy in order not to reveal that she was shaking.

      ‘Sure, that would be nice. Where have you put that little man of yours? How old is he now?’

      She gave him an enquiring look.

      ‘Mamma and Pappa have kept me up-to-date,’ he said with a smile.

      ‘He’s five. And he’s already asleep.’

      ‘Ah.’ He sounded disappointed, and that warmed her heart. It was important to her. She had often wondered what things would have been like if she’d had Sam with Matte instead of with Fredrik. Only in that case, he wouldn’t have been Sam but some other child. And that was impossible to imagine.

      She was glad that Sam was asleep. She didn’t want Matte to see him the way he was now. But as soon as he was feeling better, she would introduce Matte to her little boy, whose brown eyes were always so filled with mischief. If only the mischief would return, then all three of them could spend time together. She looked forward to that.

      They sat in silence for a while, sipping the hot tea. It was odd to feel like strangers, to know that they had let the passing of time bring them to this state. Then they started talking. It wasn’t easy, because they were not the same people they used to be. Slowly they fell into a familiar rhythm that had been theirs alone, and they were able to strip away all that the years had placed between them.

      When she took his hand and led him upstairs, it felt as if everything was as it should be. Afterwards, she fell asleep with his arms wrapped around her and his breath in her ear. Outside she could hear the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks.

      Vivianne spread a blanket over Erling. The sleeping pill had knocked him out, as usual. He’d started to wonder why he fell asleep on the sofa every evening, and she knew that she had to be careful. But she could no longer stand lying next to him, feeling his body touching hers. She couldn’t do it.

      She went into the kitchen and tossed the shrimp shells into the rubbish. Then she rinsed off the plates and put them in the dishwasher. There was a little wine left, so she poured it into a fresh glass and went back to the TV room.

      It was so close now, and she was beginning to get nervous. Over the past few days it had seemed as if the fiction they had so carefully constructed might collapse. Only one small part had to shift for the whole thing to come tumbling down. She knew that. When she was younger, she’d found a certain perverse enjoyment in taking risks. She had loved the feeling of teetering on the edge of danger. Not any more. It was as if the older she got, the stronger her yearning for security became, the desire to lean back and not have to think. And she was sure that Anders felt the same way. They were so alike and knew what the other one was thinking without saying a word out loud. It had always been that way.

      Vivianne lifted the glass to her lips but paused for a moment when she smelled the wine. The scent brought back memories of events that she had sworn to forget. It was all so long ago. She had been a different person, someone she could never be again, not under any circumstances. She was Vivianne now.

      She knew that she needed Anders to keep her from falling again, sliding down into that dark hole of memories that made her feel sullied and small.

      Giving one last glance at Erling lying on the sofa, she grabbed her jacket and went out. He was sleeping soundly. He wouldn’t miss her.

       FJÄLLBACKA 1870

       When Karl proposed to her, Emelie was in seventh heaven. She could never have imagined that such a thing would actually happen, even though she’d dreamed about it. During the five years that she’d worked as a maid on his parents’ farm, she had often fallen asleep with the image of Karl’s face in her thoughts. But he was far beyond her reach, and she knew it. Edith’s sharp rebukes had also chased away the last of her dreams. The farmer’s son was not about to marry the maid, not even if she was in the family way.

       Karl had never touched her. He had hardly spoken to her the few times he’d had free from the lightship and had come home to visit. He had merely treated her politely, stepping out of her way if she needed to get past. At the most he had asked after her health but had never given any sign that he felt the same as she did. Edith had called her a fool, telling her to push those thoughts out of her mind and stop being such a dreamer.

       But dreams could come true, and prayers could be answered. One day he had appeared and asked to speak with her. She was frightened, thinking that she’d done something stupid and that he was going to tell her to pack up her belongings and leave the farm. Instead, he had stared at the floor. A lock of his dark hair fell over his eyes, and she had to restrain herself from reaching out to brush it back. Stammering, he had asked whether she might consider entering into marriage with him. She couldn’t believe her ears. She found herself looking him up and down to see whether he was joking. But he went on speaking, telling her that he wanted her to be his wife, and they could be married the very next day. His parents and the pastor had already been informed, so if she accepted his proposal, the whole thing could be arranged at once.

       She hesitated for a moment but then whispered ‘Yes.’ Karl had bowed and thanked her as he backed out of the room. She sat there for a long time, feeling the warmth spread through her chest. She offered up her thanks to God, who had heard the prayers she had silently repeated every night. Then she rushed out to find Edith.

       But Edith hadn’t reacted as she had hoped, with surprise and perhaps a little envy. Instead, she had drawn her dark brows together in a frown as she shook her head and told Emelie that she needed to be careful. Edith had heard strange conversations, voices that rose and fell behind closed doors, ever since Karl had come home from the lightship. He had arrived unexpectedly. At least no one who worked on the farm had been given any forewarning that the youngest son was on his way home. And that was unusual, Edith had said. But Emelie wasn’t listening. Interpreting her friend’s words as a sign that she was jealous of the