The Nightmare. Ларс Кеплер

disappointed in you.’

      ‘Sorry.’

      ‘You always manage to eat my meatballs at Christmas and Midsummer and …’

      ‘I can go without,’ Penelope says quickly.

      ‘Fine,’ her mother says abruptly. ‘That’s that sorted.’

      ‘I just mean …’

      ‘Don’t bother coming for Midsummer,’ her mother interrupts crossly.

      ‘Oh, Mum, why do you always have to …’

      There’s a click as her mother hangs up. Penelope stops talking and feels frustration bubbling inside her as she stares at the phone, then tosses it aside.

      The boat passes slowly across the green reflection of the verdant slopes. The steps from the galley creak and Viola wobbles into view with a martini glass in her hand.

      ‘Was that Mum?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Is she worried I’m not going to get anything to eat?’ Viola asks with a smile.

      ‘There’s food,’ Penelope replies.

      ‘Mum doesn’t think I can take care of myself.’

      ‘She’s just worried,’ Penelope replies.

      ‘She never worries about you,’ Viola says.

      ‘I’m fine.’

      Viola sips her cocktail and looks out through the windscreen.

      ‘I saw the debate on television,’ she says.

      ‘This morning? With Pontus Salman?’

      ‘No, this was … last week,’ she says. ‘You were talking to an arrogant man who … he had a fancy name, and …’

      ‘Palmcrona,’ Penelope says.

      ‘That was it, Palmcrona …’

      ‘I got angry, my cheeks turned red and I could feel tears in my eyes, I felt like reciting Bob Dylan’s “Masters of War” or just running out and slamming the door behind me.’

      Viola watches as Penelope stretches up and opens the roof hatch.

      ‘I didn’t think you shaved your armpits,’ she says breezily.

      ‘No, but I’ve been in the media so much that …’

      ‘Vanity got the better of you,’ Viola jokes.

      ‘I didn’t want to get written off as a troublemaker just because I had a bit of hair under my arms.’

      ‘How’s your bikini line going, then?’

      ‘Well …’

      Penelope lifts her sarong and Viola bursts out laughing.

      ‘Björn likes it,’ Penelope smiles.

      ‘He can hardly talk, with his dreadlocks.’

      ‘But you shave everywhere, just like you’re supposed to,’ Penelope says with a note of sharpness in her voice. ‘For your married men and muscle-bound idiots and …’

      ‘I know I have bad taste in men,’ Viola interrupts.

      ‘You don’t have bad taste in anything else.’

      ‘I’ve never really done anything properly, though.’

      ‘You just have to improve your grades a bit, then …’

      Viola shrugs her shoulders:

      ‘I did actually sit the high-school paper.’

      They’re ploughing gently through the transparent water, followed high above by some gulls.

      ‘How did it go?’ Penelope eventually asks.

      ‘I thought it was easy,’ Viola says, licking salt from the rim of the glass.

      ‘So it went well, then?’ Penelope smiles.

      Viola nods and puts her glass down.

      ‘How well?’ Penelope asks, nudging her in the side.

      ‘Top marks,’ Viola says, looking down.

      Penelope lets out a shriek of joy and hugs her sister hard.

      ‘You know what this means, don’t you?’ Penelope says excitedly. ‘You can study anything you like, you can have your pick of the universities, you can chose whatever course you like, business studies, medicine, journalism.’

      Her sister blushes and laughs, and Penelope hugs her again, knocking her hat off. She strokes Viola’s head, then arranges her hair just as she always did when they were little, takes the clasp with the dove from her own hair and uses it to fasten her sister’s, then looks at her and smiles happily.

       3

       A boat is left adrift in Jungfrufjärden

      The fore cuts the smooth surface of the water like a knife, with a sticky, liquid sound. They’re going very fast. Large waves hit the shore in their wake. They turn steeply and bounce across breaking waves, spraying water around them. Penelope heads out into the open water with the engines roaring. The fore lifts up and plumes of foaming white water spread out behind them.

      ‘You’re crazy, Madicken!’ Viola shouts, pulling the clasp from her hair, just like she always did as a child when her hair was finally neat.

      Björn wakes up when they stop at Gåsö. They buy ice-creams and have coffee. Then Viola wants to play mini-golf, and it’s already late in the afternoon by the time they get going again.

      The sea opens up on their port side, like a dizzyingly large stone floor.

      The plan is to reach Kastskär, a long, narrow-waisted island that’s uninhabited. There’s a lush bay on the south side where they’re going to drop anchor, swim, have a barbecue and spend the night.

      ‘I think I’ll go down and have a rest,’ Viola says with a yawn.

      ‘Go ahead,’ Penelope smiles.

      Viola goes down the steps and Penelope looks ahead of them. She lowers their speed and keeps an eye on the electronic depth sounder that will warn them of reefs as they approach Kastskär. The water very quickly gets shallow, from forty metres to just five.

      Björn comes into the cabin and kisses Penelope on the back of her neck.

      ‘Shall I go and start the food?’ he asks.

      ‘Viola probably ought to sleep for an hour.’

      ‘You sound like your mother,’ he says gently. ‘Has she phoned yet?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘To see if we let Viola come with us?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Did you have an argument?’

      She shakes her head.

      ‘What is it?’ he asks. ‘Are you upset?’

      ‘No, it’s just that Mum …’

      ‘What?’

      Penelope smiles as she wipes the tears from her cheeks.

      ‘She doesn’t want me there for Midsummer,’ she says.

      Björn hugs her.

      ‘Just ignore her.’

      ‘I