“Oh, yes,” said Rebecka. “Just get a makeover expert round here and a family with three children can move in shortly and sit there beaming.”
The guard handed the bags to Rebecka with a nod, and left the room. Rebecka passed them to Sanna, who rummaged through them like a child on Christmas Eve.
“What gorgeous clothes,” smiled Sanna, her cheeks flushed with pleasure. “Look at this jumper! Pity there isn’t a mirror in here.”
She held up a red scoop-neck jumper with a shiny metallic thread running through it, and turned to Rebecka.
“Sara chose that one,” said Rebecka.
Sanna dipped into the bags again.
“And underwear and soap and shampoo and everything,” she said. “You must let me give you some money.”
“No, no, it’s a present,” insisted Rebecka. “It didn’t cost that much. We went to Lindex.”
“And you’ve got books out of the library. And bought sweets.”
“I bought a Bible too,” said Rebecka, pointing to a small bag. “It’s the new translation. I know you prefer the 1917 version, but you must know that one by heart. I thought it might be interesting to compare.”
Sanna picked up the red book, turning and twisting it several times before opening it at random and flicking through the thin pages.
“Thank you,” she said. “When the Bible Commission’s translation of the New Testament came out, I thought all the beauty of the language had been lost, but it’ll be interesting to read this one. Although it feels odd, reading a completely new Bible. You get used to your own, all the underlining and the notes. It might be really good to read new ways of putting things, and to have pages without any notes. No preconceptions.”
My old Bible, thought Rebecka. It must be in one of the boxes up in the loft in Grandmother’s barn. I can’t have thrown it away, surely? It’s like an old diary. All the cards and newspaper cuttings you put in it. And all the embarrassing places underlined in red, they give a lot away. “As the hart longs for flowing streams, so longs my soul for Thee, O God.” “In the day of my trouble I seek the Lord, in the night my hand is outstretched and grows not weary, my soul refuses to be comforted.”
“Did it go all right with the girls today?” asked Sanna.
“In the end,” replied Rebecka tersely. “I got them to school and nursery anyway.”
Sanna bit her lower lip and opened the Bible.
“What is it?” asked Rebecka.
“I’m just thinking about my parents. They might go and pick them up.”
“What is this thing with you and your parents?”
“Nothing new. It’s just that I got tired of being their property. You must remember how things were when Sara was little.”
I remember, thought Rebecka.
Rebecka runs up the stairs to the flat she shares with Sanna. She’s late. They should have been at a children’s party ten minutes ago. And it takes at least twenty minutes to get there. More, probably, now that it’s snowed. Maybe Sanna and Sara have gone without her.
Please, please, she thinks, and notices that Sara’s winter shoes aren’t in the entrance hall. If they’ve gone, I don’t have to have a guilty conscience.
But Sanna’s boots are there. Rebecka opens the door and takes a deep breath, so she can get through all the explanations and excuses whirling around in her head.
Sanna is sitting on the floor in the hallway, in the dark. Rebecka almost falls over her, sitting there with her knees drawn up to her chin and her arms around her legs. And she is rocking back and forth. As if to console herself. Or as if the very rhythm could keep terrible thoughts at bay. It takes a while for Rebecka to reach her. To get her to talk. And the tears come at the same time.
“It was Mummy and Daddy,” sobs Sanna. “They just came and took Sara. I said we were going to party and we were going to have lots of fun this weekend, but they wouldn’t listen. They just took her with them.”
Suddenly she gets angry and hammers on the wall with her fists.
“What I want doesn’t matter,” she screams. “They don’t take any notice of what I say. They own me. And they own my child. Just like they used to own my dogs. There was Laika-Daddy just took her away from me. They’re so frightened of being alone with each other, they just-”
She breaks off and the rage and the tears turn into a long, drawn-out wail from her throat. Her hands fall helplessly to the floor.
“They just took her,” she whimpers. “We were going to make a gingerbread house, you and me and Sara.”
“Ssh,” says Rebecka, stroking the hair from Sanna’s face. “It’ll be all right. I promise.”
She dries the tears from Sanna’s cheeks with the back of her hands.
“What kind of mother am I?” whispers Sanna. “I can’t even defend my own child.”
“You’re a good mother,” Rebecka reassures her. “Listen to me, it’s your parents who’ve done something wrong. Not you.”
“I don’t want to live like this. He just comes in with his spare key and takes what he wants. What could I do? I didn’t want to start screaming and pulling at Sara. She’d have been terrified. My little girl.”
A picture of Olof Strandgård forms in Rebecka’s head. His deep, reassuring voice. Not used to being contradicted. His permanent smile above the starched shirt collar. His cardboard cutout wife.
I’ll kill him, she thinks. I’ll kill him with my bare hands.
“Come along,” she says to Sanna, in a voice that brooks no disagreement.
And Sanna gets ready and goes with her like an obedient child. She drives the car to where Rebecka wants to go.
K ristina Strandgård opens the door.
“We’ve come to collect Sara,” says Rebecka. “We’re going to a party and we’re already forty minutes late.”
Fear flashes through Kristina’s eyes. She glances over her shoulder into the house, but doesn’t move to let them in. Rebecka can hear that they have guests.
“But we agreed that Sara was coming to us this weekend,” says Kristina, trying to catch Sanna’s eye.
Sanna looks obstinately at the ground.
“As I understand it, you didn’t agree anything of the sort,” says Rebecka tersely.
“Just a minute,” says Kristina, biting her lip nervously.
She disappears into the lounge, and after a while Olof Strandgård appears in the doorway. He is not smiling. His eyes bore into Rebecka first. Then he turns to his daughter.
“What’s this nonsense?” he growls. “I thought we had an agreement, Sanna. It doesn’t do Sara any good being dragged from pillar to post. I find it very disappointing that you keep making her pay the price for your whims and fancies.”
Sanna hunches her shoulders, but still stares stubbornly at the ground. Snow is falling onto her hair, forming a helmet of ice around her head.
“Are you going to answer when you’re spoken to, or can’t you even manage to show me that much respect?” says Olof in a tightly controlled voice.