He woke up with a cry in the darkness of the home, just before the mine exploded.
23
Sunday morning: Julia was sitting by the window in Astrid’s living room, her crutches leaning against the back of the chair, watching her older sister Lena and her husband Richard driving her car away out on the ridge.
She had managed to hold on to the car for a week longer than planned, but now it was over. Perhaps it was just as well; she couldn’t drive anyway, with her broken bones.
Lena and Richard had arrived on Saturday for a short visit to Öland; they had called on Gerlof and had coffee in Marnäs before spending the night up in the summer cottage. In the morning they came down to Astrid Linder’s to say hello, and it then became clear that they were also intending to take Julia back to Gothenburg with them.
Naturally they hadn’t bothered to inform Julia of this plan. She didn’t even know Lena and Richard were going to turn up, until she saw the dark green Volvo come up the road and park outside Astrid’s house. And by that time it was too late to run away.
“Hi there!” called Lena breezily when Astrid let her in. She gave Julia a hug which made the pain of her cracked collarbone stab through her neck. “How are you?” Lena was looking at the crutches.
“Not too bad now,” said Julia.
“Dad phoned and told us what had happened,” said Lena. “Terrible... but it could have been worse... That’s the way you have to think about it, it could have been worse.” And that was all her sister had to say about Julia’s broken bones. She added, “It’s very kind of Astrid to let you stay here, isn’t it?”
“Astrid’s an angel,” said Julia.
And it was true. Astrid was an angel who enjoyed living in the quiet emptiness of Stenvik, but she’d said that she also felt lonely sometimes. She was a widow after all, and her only child, a daughter, was a doctor in Saudi Arabia, and only came home at Christmas and midsummer.
Richard didn’t actually have anything to say at all; he merely nodded impatiently at Julia, didn’t take off his light brown autumn jacket, and started looking at his Rolex after just a few minutes. No doubt for him the only important thing was to get the car back to Torslanda, Julia thought, so that his daughter could use it.
Astrid offered them morning coffee and cookies, and Lena was full of enthusiasm for how quiet and peaceful it was in Stenvik at this time of year, when all the tourists were gone. Richard sat stiffly beside his wife and said nothing. Julia sat at the opposite side of the table looking out of the window, thinking about Vera Kant’s house behind the tall trees.
“Right, well, we’d better be thinking about leaving soon,” said Lena when they’d had coffee. “We’ve got a long journey home.”
She quickly helped to clear away the coffee cups while Richard went out to help Astrid fix a gutter that was coming away at the back of the house.
Julia could do nothing but sit and watch. She had no legs, no job, no children. But life would still go on, somehow.
“Nice of you to come,” she told her sister.
“We decided straightaway that we’d come over and help you get home,” Lena said. “I mean, you can’t drive now.”
“Thank you,” said Julia, “but there’s no need. I’m going to stay.”
Lena wasn’t listening. “If I take you and drive the Ford, Richard can drive the Volvo home,” she went on, rinsing out the coffeepot. “We usually stop for lunch in Rydaholm, there’s a very nice restaurant there.”
“I can’t go home without Jens,” Julia said. “I have to find him now.”
Lena turned and looked at her.
“What did you say?” she said. “But there aren’t any...”
Julia shook her head.
“I know Jens is dead, Lena,” she interrupted, meeting her sister’s gaze steadily. “My son is dead. I’ve realized that now, but this isn’t about that. I just want us to find him, wherever he is.”
“Okay, okay, that’s fine. Dad enjoys having you here,” said Lena, hastily. “So that’s absolutely fine.”
Yes, better than drinking wine and taking pills in front of the television in Gothenburg, thought Julia. For a second she felt all the wasted years like a heavy pressure against her breast — the years when the grief over her missing child had become much more important than all the happy memories of him that could have given her solace; a black hole of grief in which she nearly drowned, while avoiding life.
But now there was peace. Just a little peace.
In the end, when you were old enough, it all came down to being in a peaceful place where you felt at home, together with people you liked. Like Stenvik, with Astrid the angel. And Gerlof. And Lennart. Julia liked them all.
And Lena meant well. Julia knew that even her older sister somehow meant well.
“Good,” she told Lena. “See you in Gothenburg.”
Half an hour later, Richard was sitting in the big dark green Volvo outside Astrid’s house and Lena was getting into the little Ford.
She leaned forward and waved to Julia through the windshield. And then they set off, first Richard and then her sister.
Julia breathed out.
A minute or so later the telephone out in the hallway began to ring.
“I’ll get it,” said Astrid. Julia heard her lift the receiver and listen, and then she called out, “It’s the police, Julia, for you... It’s Lennart.”
Julia hobbled into the hallway on just one crutch and picked up the telephone. “Hi there.”
“How are you feeling?” asked Lennart.
“Better,” said Julia. “Time heals broken bones... and Astrid’s looking after me.”
“Good,” he said. “I’ve got some news... but perhaps you’ve already heard it.”
“Have you found Nils Kant?” said Julia.
It sounded as if Lennart were sighing quietly at the other end of the phone.
“It isn’t a ghost who’s been digging up that cellar,” he replied. “Didn’t Gerlof tell you?”
“We haven’t had much chance to talk,” said Julia.
“Your father helped me trace the owner of the snuff tins. You know, the tins that were down in Vera’s cellar.”
“Who was it?”
“Anders Hagman.”
“Anders Hagman? You mean Anders... over at the campsite? John’s son?”
“The very man.”
“Are you sure?”
“He hasn’t admitted it himself, because we haven’t managed to speak to him yet,” said Lennart. “Anders is keeping out of the way. But all the indications are that it’s him.”
“So it wasn’t Nils Kant who’d been sleeping at the house.”
“No,” said Lennart. “There’s usually a simple explanation, Julia. Anders Hagman lives just a few hundred yards away. It was easy for him to sneak over to Vera Kant’s house after dark.”
“But why was he digging?”
“There are a few different theories about that. I have my own ideas, and I’ve discussed them with my colleagues in Borgholm. Do you know Anders? Did you see anything of him when you lived in Stenvik?”
“No. He’s younger than me... four or five years younger.” She had only a vague memory of a powerfully built, shy, silent boy. Anders Hagman had kept to himself, worked on his father’s campsite, and never taken part in any of the midsummer dances or parties down by the jetty, or anything else in Stenvik — not that she could recall.
“He has a conviction for assault,” said Lennart. “Did you know that?”
“Assault?”
“There was a drunken brawl at the campsite twelve years ago. Anders knocked down a young lad from Stockholm. I went down there myself that night and arrested him. He got a suspended sentence and a fine.”