It was on Idol that Teresa saw Tora for the first time. Tora Larsson from Stockholm. Even her audition was an unusual story. Boys and girls would come in and sing like broken cement mixers, then be absolutely furious with the judges when they didn’t get any further. Or they sang well, and were ecstatic when they found out they’d got through.
Tora was different. Small and thin, with long blonde hair, she walked into the studio and fixed her eyes on a point above the judges’ heads. She said. ‘My name is Tora Larsson. I am going to sing.’
The judges laughed indulgently and one of them said, ‘And are you going to sing something special for us?’
Tora shook her head, and the judges pulled faces as if they felt sorry for a very small child. ‘So what’s the name of the song you’re going to sing?’
‘I don’t know.’
The judges looked at each other and seemed to be on the point of asking someone to come and remove the girl. Then she began to sing. Teresa recognised the song, but couldn’t place it.
A thousand and one nights I lay alone,
Alone and dreaming
Dreaming of a friend
A friend like you…
The usual thing was for the optimistic contestants to sing a contemporary song, hoping that a little of the stardust from the original artists would rub off on them. Not Tora. Unless Teresa was very much mistaken, this song was way past its sell-by date.
But the voice, the voice. And the way she sang. Teresa sat motionless on the sofa, and it was as if that voice went straight through her breastbone. Tora Larsson didn’t make any gestures, didn’t try to play any kind of part. She simply sang, and it moved Teresa even though she didn’t understand why. Even the judges sat there lit up like candles for the minute or so she was singing. Then the voice fell silent, and they came to and looked at each other.
‘You’re definitely through,’ said one of them. ‘You have a voice like…I don’t know how to describe it. If certain artists could kill for that voice, we’d have a bloodbath here. You’re through, one hundred per cent. But you must learn to engage with the audience.’
Tora nodded briefly and walked towards the door. Not the slightest expression of joy, not a word of thanks. She didn’t even look the judges in the eye. One of them clearly still felt the need to justify their existence, and before Tora opened the door he called out: ‘And next time try to choose a song that’s more of a challenge. A more difficult song.’
Tora half-turned, and Teresa just managed to catch a glimpse of a totally alien expression on her face. A hint of a grimace, suggesting that she had just been stabbed in the back and was about to unsheathe her claws. Then she turned away and walked out.
The family on the sofa started arguing; they were all agreed that the girl had a fantastic voice, but she hadn’t given much in the way of a performance, blah blah blah. Teresa didn’t listen and didn’t join in. Tora had done the most brilliant audition she had ever seen on Idol, because she didn’t seem to give a toss about any of it, even though she was clearly the best. That was the way to do it. Teresa had already chosen her winner.
On the way up to her room that night she was humming to herself:
Alone and dreaming
Dreaming of a friend
A friend like you…
THE GIRL WITH GOLDEN HAIR
When Jerry looked back on his life, he could clearly distinguish a number of points where it had changed direction, always for the worse. The most extreme change of course had occurred that afternoon in October 2005 when he found his parents massacred on the cellar floor. It was still unclear to what extent the shift this had brought about was positive or negative.
He had sat on the stairs for a long time, considering the situation. Theres continued dissecting Lennart and Laila with the tools she had to hand until he asked her to stop, because the noise was making it difficult to think. When she moved towards him he told her to stay where she was, and Theres flopped down on her bottom in the pool of blood on the floor.
He assumed a lot of people would have panicked, started screaming or throwing up or something along those lines. The scene in front of him was the most disgusting thing you could imagine. But perhaps there was a positive side-effect from watching all those films showing extreme violence after all. He’d seen most things-much worse than what Theres had done, in fact. For example, she wasn’t actually eating his parents.
Or perhaps he was just numb, incapable of taking in the situation on any other level apart from a scene in a film in which he was now required to participate. The problem was that he hadn’t been given a script, and hadn’t a clue what to do.
He realised he would have to phone the police, and went through the information he had assimilated from dozens of films and true crime series. He knew he had an alibi that could be checked, but that this alibi was getting weaker by the minute. He didn’t know how long Lennart and Laila had been dead, but Theres must have been working for quite some time to make such a comprehensive mess of them.
Of course the simplest thing would be to ring the police and explain exactly what had happened. He would probably get into trouble because he had known about Theres’ existence but hadn’t reported it, he might get a year inside, but that would be it. Lennart and Laila would be buried and Theres would end up in the loony bin. End of story.
No. No. That was no good at all. He did not want that to happen. It was the bit about Theres and the loony bin that really stuck in his throat. However crazy she was-and we’re talking seriously crazy here-he didn’t want to see her sitting in some cell picking at her nails for the rest of her life. So he just had think of something, and fast.
After pondering for a while he had a useless plan that was the best he could come up with.
‘Theres?’ he said. The girl didn’t look at him, but she did turn her head in his direction. ‘I think you’d better…’ He broke off, rephrased what he was going to say. ‘Go and change your clothes.’
The girl didn’t react. He didn’t want to go over to her, didn’t want to get too close to the scene of the crime where he might be contaminated, to use the technical term, or leave traces behind. In a louder voice he said, ‘Go to your room. Put on some clean clothes. Now.’
The girl stood up, leaving a trail of blood behind her as she walked through the cellar. Jerry went upstairs and gathered together a sleeping bag, a loaf of bread, a tube of caviar and a torch. He went outside and around the house, then down the cellar steps and in through the other door.
Being careful not to step in any of the bloodstains, he went to Theres’ room and found her sitting on the bed and staring at the wall. She had changed into a clean velour tracksuit but her blonde hair was caked with dried blood and her hands, face and feet were covered in almost-black, coagulated clumps. For the first time since the whole thing had started, Jerry felt his stomach turn over. Seeing the remains of his parents stuck to Theres’ skin was somehow more unpleasant than the sight of their bodies.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We’re going.’
‘Where?’
‘Out. You have to hide.’
Theres shook her head. ‘Not out.’
Jerry closed his eyes. In the midst of the chaos Theres had created, he had managed to forget that she had more problems with her view of the world than the obvious ones. He had to work from her perceptions.
‘The big people are coming,’ he said. ‘They’re coming here. Soon. You have to get away.’
The girl hunched her shoulders as if she was trying to protect herself from a blow. ‘The big people?’