The Silver Road, page 22
They slept huddled together and didn’t seem to mind her joining them in the middle of the night. Meja sank down on the sawdust, ignoring the dirt. She laid her hand on the bullied chicken. The tar had gone and soft new feathers had started to grow where the old ones had been pecked away. She sat there, trying to untangle her thoughts. She may even have cried a little, but not enough to upset the birds.
She was on the point of falling asleep when the sound of voices jerked her awake. Her first thought was that it was Carl-Johan, looking for her. Perhaps he had woken Pär or Göran. None of them seemed to get it that she needed time alone. Whoever it was, they were speaking softly, almost whispering. She leaned closer to the door and held her breath to hear better.
First there was a man’s voice, mumbling something she couldn’t make out, closely followed by another voice, high and unfamiliar. A female voice.
That evening he sat at the kitchen table in the same pool of light, opposite Lina’s place, but she was not the only one to occupy his thoughts. He didn’t want to admit it was Meja he was waiting for, but even so he was waiting. Sitting stiffly on the flattened seat pad, listening. He could still see her wide-open eyes as they scanned the walls, as if she were impressed by his untidy old house. She had found the photographs of Lina and that’s where her eyes had stayed. Longingly. Like a hungry dog under a dinner table she had looked at Lina, from her chubby baby cheeks to the sharp teenage face. Ten pictures crowded together on the steel surface, ten moments he would never get back, but which he could still devour. The rest of the world had lost its smell and taste. He no longer took any photographs. Everything he had experienced and that meant something was attached to his fridge door with dreary magnets, staring back at him and silently demanding Do something, Dad. Don’t just sit there.
In the end he called Hassan. When there was no answer, he left a brief message: I’m worried about a new student of mine, Meja Nordlander. She’s seventeen. Her mother is the woman who’s moved in with Torbjörn Fors. Silje, she’s called. I want to know more about their background. Grateful if you can help. You know where I am.
He sat for a long time with his mobile in his hand. He got a weird feeling down his spine when he thought of Meja. She had never had a real home or a real father. She had probably never adorned a fridge door.
Meja peered through the bars of the henhouse. Two figures were moving at the edge of the trees. Her first thought was that someone was trespassing on Birger’s land, but the dogs were quiet in the pens. And one of the figures was recognizable. Although she couldn’t see his face, she knew it was Göran. There was something about his movements, the way he swung his arms, as if he wanted to protect himself from the world or go on the attack.
The shape beside him was small, far too small to be one of the brothers, and considerably thinner than Anita. It was a girl. A young girl, in fact, perhaps even a child. When she turned in the moonlight Meja could see the blonde hair down her back. She walked oddly, with her shoulders raised and her head bent down, as if she had a pain somewhere.
They were talking to each other, more heatedly now, almost as if they were arguing. Meja ducked under the low door and got closer to them, her back pressed to the henhouse wall. She crouched behind the wheelbarrow and in the light from the lamp on the drive she watched as Göran held the girl up against a tree and put his hand over her mouth. It looked as if he had something over his head to hide his face, and the black cloth moved as he talked.
‘I’ve done everything for you,’ he said. ‘And this is the thanks I get.’
The girl in his grip cried. Meja felt a vile taste fill her mouth. She wanted to scream at him, but her tongue wouldn’t obey. Göran brought his face close to the girl’s.
‘The last girl I had was just as stupid as you,’ he said. ‘She tried to leave me, even though I saved her from everything – everything! And believe me, you don’t want to know what I did to her.’
The girl moaned. He took his hand from her mouth and she sucked in air and coughed.
‘I want to go home,’ she stammered. ‘Please, I only want to go home.’
That only made him angrier. Meja saw him lift her up and shake her like a rag doll. ‘You are home. Don’t you get that?’
He rammed the thin body against the tree trunk and held her in a stranglehold. The girl’s widening eyes were white in the dim light and her legs struggled helplessly beneath her. She kicked and trampled the air. She let out a gurgling sound and Meja heard herself scream.
That made the dogs howl in the pen. Göran turned his head, but his hands stayed around the thin neck, and Meja saw the girl’s legs fall still and her body dangle. Meja started running over the dark earth to Göran, where she began beating and tearing at the wiry sinews of his neck and his tense shoulders, so much stronger than hers. Perhaps it was astonishment that made him loosen his hold, and the girl dropped to the ground with a nasty thud. Coughing and spluttering, she crawled towards the trees.
Göran pulled off the balaclava and looked at Meja with eyes she didn’t recognize. She could see his scalp was bleeding and a dark gash ran over his cheek and down to his throat. His shoulders rose and fell as if he couldn’t get enough air.
‘Don’t interfere, Meja. We’re only playing.’
Behind him she saw the girl get to her feet and run into the trees that were only shadows in the darkness. She ran like a white wraith among the low branches, in the direction of the lake.
‘What are you doing? Who is she?’
Göran didn’t answer. He only looked her over, up and down. His breath filled the gap between them and she could almost hear the thoughts whirling in his head. Suddenly he threw himself at her, grabbing her with both hands, but he only managed to get hold of her sleeve. Meja pulled herself free and started running. She ran so hard over the damp ground that earth flew up into her mouth. She ran to the dark farmhouse.
She was on the veranda steps when she realized Göran hadn’t followed her. She scanned the barn and the edge of the forest, but couldn’t see anything moving. Both Göran and the girl had been swallowed up by the darkness. The effort and the fear burned in her lungs as she hammered on the door of Birger’s room.
It was Anita who opened. Her hair shone silver in the dull light and her nightdress was ghostlike around her ankles.
‘What’s happened?’
Meja supported herself against the doorframe. Inside the room she could make out the shape of Birger, reaching for his rifle.
‘It’s Göran. You’ve got to come.’
She didn’t need to say more. Birger and Anita threw on some clothes and when they raced out of the house Birger was still clutching the rifle.
They found him down by the lake. The water was motionless under its coating of ice and everything was quiet. Göran was clinging to a twisted birch and it was impossible to see where the branches ended and his arms began. His face was as pale as the moon, apart from the blood that ran from his scalp. His eyes were wide as he saw them coming, and small bubbles of saliva ran from his mouth as he breathed. He let go of the birch tree and clung tightly to Anita instead, winding his arms around her back and neck. The blood ran down to his throat and Meja could hear him whisper, ‘Sorry, Mum. I’m so sorry.’
‘My darling boy, what have you done?’
‘I never meant to hurt her. I never meant it. We were only playing.’
Birger swept the beam of his torch over the bushes and the trees were grey and ugly in the light.
‘You wretched boy. Where is she?’
Göran leaned over the frozen water and threw up. Anita stroked his back and glared at Birger.
‘It’s your fault,’ she said, in a sharp voice that hung in the air among the trees. ‘You refused to let him get help.’
Birger didn’t answer. The only sound was the crushing of bushes under his feet as he searched. He waved the torch like a weapon in front of him. Meja stood to one side, her teeth chattering. She could smell the sweat, the vomit and the blood. A cold rush of fear hit her as Göran stood up and pointed into the forest.
‘She’s lying in there,’ he said.
Birger shone the torch. They saw the hair first, then the splayed legs. She was face-down in the moss and the metal of a pair of handcuffs glinted in the white beam of light. It didn’t look as if she was breathing. He ran up and turned her over. Her neck muscles had given up and her head flopped. Streaks of blood had coagulated over her mouth and chin. Anita began screaming to the sky: ‘Not again. Oh, good God, not again!’
Birger sank to the ground and put his ear to the girl’s parted lips. He had dropped the torch and the rifle and now he opened her mouth with trembling hands and blew as hard as he could to fill her lungs with his own air. He threw himself over her and pressed his hands to her frail ribcage.
‘I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to,’ Göran said, over and over. ‘She was the one who attacked me.’
Birger blew and thumped so hard that he threatened to break the lifeless bones. ‘You wretched boy,’ he wheezed. ‘You’ll be the ruin of us.’
When the girl started to cough Birger didn’t seem to notice and he carried on thumping her chest in a kind of frenzy. Meja heard herself shout at him. She ran on unsteady legs over the bumpy ground and pulled him off the girl, who rolled over on to her side and began gasping for air. Birger’s shirt was damp under Meja’s hands and his lungs rattled from the exertion.
‘We must call an ambulance.’
Birger wiped his face and looked up at Meja, as if he had only just noticed she was standing there. His eyes were streaming. He heaved himself up and grabbed her, pulling her tight to his chest. She could feel him trembling under the wet shirt and feel his fear mixed with her own.
‘We’re not calling anyone,’ he said.
Meja tried to wrench herself free of his hold, but he clamped one hand round her wrist and picked up the rifle with the other. All she saw was the weapon lifted into the night sky, high above her head, and his white fingers round the rifle butt, before the world exploded.
Lelle was woken by the crunch of gravel outside. A string of saliva ran from his mouth to the leather sofa and his cheek felt flattened as he levered himself up. There was a rapid knocking on the door, before he had time to look out through the window. The bright markings of a patrol car were visible through the venetian blind. Lelle clutched his head.
‘Bloody hell, Lelle, don’t you ever do anything but sleep?’ Hassan placed a pink carton in his hands and pushed past him. ‘I know it’s Saturday, but it’s nearly eleven o’clock.’
‘Who gives a toss? I’d sleep for the rest of my life if I could.’
Lelle lifted the lid of the carton and saw two almond croissants dusted with icing sugar staring back at him. Hassan kicked off his shoes and went into the kitchen.
‘Don’t you get tired of living in a pigsty? You do know there are things called cleaning firms, don’t you?’
‘I’m not in the mood for your humour.’
‘Then put the coffee on and act like a civilized human being.’
Lelle put the croissants down on the table and did as he was told. Hassan unzipped his uniform jacket and sat down at the table, avoiding Lina’s chair.
‘Have you got any news for me or have you just come to sympathize?’ Lelle said, as the coffee machine began to splutter on the worktop. Hassan already had his mouth full of croissant.
‘Both, I’m afraid.’
The ground swayed beneath Lelle’s feet as he put out the cups and milk.
‘Let’s hear it.’
‘That girl you phoned me about, Meja Nordlander. I’ve made a few enquiries into her background. It seems social services have been involved in her life ever since she was born. There are files full of notes.’
‘Really?’
‘Things I shouldn’t be telling you.’
Lelle stood by the coffee machine. ‘You know I won’t say anything.’
Hassan wiped crumbs from the corners of his mouth.
‘She’s had a complicated life, to put it mildly. She and her mother – Silje, right? – have lived at over thirty addresses in the seventeen years of Meja’s life. No mention of a father, and a lot of trouble with the mother. Drug problems and psychological diagnoses. Enquiries into suspected prostitution. The girl was taken into care a couple of times, but Silje always managed to get her back.’
‘Shit. Hardly surprising she’s ended up at Svartliden. She must be profoundly fed up of being dragged around by her mother.’
Hassan pushed the remaining croissant in Lelle’s direction.
‘It looks as if she’s searching for a permanent place to settle,’ he said. ‘Someone or something to become attached to.’
‘Lie still. You’re bleeding.’
Meja squinted up at the figure leaning over her. The girl had bruising around her eyes and a cut above her mouth, and blood was oozing from it, thick and glossy. She pressed a wet cloth to Meja’s forehead. Her voice was hoarse as she spoke.
‘Try to relax. You’ve been hit.’
‘Who are you?’
‘I’m Hanna.’
Above her collarbones, beneath the strands of blonde hair, were livid bruises. Meja’s heart sank when she saw them. She ran her eyes around the dark walls. The room was small, with a single light bulb hanging from a cord in the ceiling. It cast long shadows around them. The air was dank and stale and the acrid smell of urine filled her nostrils. Meja looked at Hanna again, struggling to speak.
‘Where are we?’
‘We’re underground, that’s all I know.’
‘Where are the others?’
‘There’s only us here.’
Meja raised herself up on to her elbows. There was a blinding flash of pain behind her forehead and the walls shifted. She shut her eyes and slowly sat up, fighting the nausea that welled up in her throat.
‘I think you should lie down,’ Hanna said, dabbing her own mouth. ‘You’ve been hit really badly.’
‘Who hit me?’
Hanna tried to make her voice work.
‘I don’t know. There were several of them out there.’
She took the blood-stained cloth from her face and dipped it in a bucket of water, then wrung it out and went on bathing Meja’s forehead. The wet fabric stung her skin.
‘Can you hold it there yourself, do you think? You’re still bleeding a lot.’
Meja put her hand on the cloth. Her fingers didn’t feel like they belonged to her, but she pressed as well as she could. She blinked up at Hanna’s face and her heart lurched as the realization struck her.
‘I’ve seen you before,’ she said. ‘On the posters.’
‘What posters?’
‘The posters everywhere. People are looking for you.’
Hanna’s lower lip began to tremble.
‘I’ve been here,’ she said. ‘All the time.’
Meja looked at the door and breathed deeply, fighting the impulse to vomit. Then she prepared herself and sat up. There were angry black flashes before her eyes and a stab of pain in the back of her head. She put a hand to the wall to support herself. Hanna’s voice sounded distant.
‘Lie down before you faint.’
But Meja leaned heavily on the rough wall and shuffled towards the door. A couple of images floated across her mind and she saw the icy lake glittering in the night and Birger’s hand stretching out for his rifle, on his face an expression she had never seen before. She reached the door and put her free hand on the handle. When nothing happened she let the cloth fall to the floor and started pulling and beating on the door with both hands until the light grey metal was covered in her bloody handprints. She screamed for Carl-Johan, for Birger and Anita, screaming until she began to vomit and her legs gave up and she sank to the cold floor.
Hanna helped her back to the bed and laid the wet rag over the mess she had left behind.
Tears ran down her dirty face, but her voice was level.
‘There’s no point shouting, nobody can hear us.’
Meja’s breathing was fast. ‘It was you I saw with Göran,’ she said. ‘Up there.’
‘So you know who he is?’
‘He’s my boyfriend’s brother.’
‘Your boyfriend?’
Meja nodded her aching head and put a hand to her shuddering chest. There wasn’t enough air in the confined space and she instantly felt so cold her teeth started chattering. The realization that they were shut in a bunker crept up on her. A small, dark bunker, made for hiding in when your worst fears became reality. There was no doubt this was Birger’s work. Or one of the son’s. The metal door, the suffocating feeling of being locked in – it was all their doing.
She found Hanna’s wrist and gripped it tightly. ‘How did you get here?’
‘We were camping, me and my friend. I went out to pee during the night. That’s when he appeared – he came from nowhere. He put his arm round my throat and squeezed so hard everything started swimming before my eyes. I tried to hit out, tried to break free, but I couldn’t. He just held on, pulling at me. Trying to strangle me. I was convinced he’d kill me…’
Hanna’s voice broke. Meja could feel the thin body shuddering beside her.
‘I must have fainted,’ she whispered. ‘Because when I came round I was in the boot of his car. I can’t remember how I got there.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘His head was covered. It was always covered. I’ve never seen his face.’
Meja thought of Göran, of his pockmarked face, his acne sores, and his fingers that couldn’t stop touching and scratching them. His look when he saw her and Carl-Johan in the grass. The intensity of his jealousy, as palpable as the weather. She remembered the glade and the way he ripped up the wood anemones and said he wanted what Meja and Carl-Johan had. She took a deep breath and Anita’s words echoed in her head: If my boys give you any trouble, just let me know. She pictured Birger’s hands round his rifle and Anita’s nightdress flapping over the frosty meadow. Göran cowering by the lake, not far from the body. His face as he cried and pointed.
