Elna paused to take a breath, Erica saw her chance.
‘It was terribly nice talking to you, but unfortunately I have to get going. There’s a lot to be done. I’m sure you’ll understand.’
She put on her most pathetic expression, hoping to entice Elna onto this sidetrack.
‘But of course, my dear. I wasn’t thinking. All this must have been so hard for you, coming so soon after your own family tragedy. You’ll have to forgive an old woman’s thoughtlessness.’
By this point Elna was almost moved to tears, so Erica merely nodded graciously and hurried to say good-bye. With a sigh of relief she continued walking to Eva’s Mart, hoping to avoid any more nosy ladies.
But luck was not with her. She was grilled mercilessly by most of the excited residents of Fjällbacka, and she didn’t dare breathe freely until her own house was within sight. But one comment she heard stayed with her. Alex’s parents had arrived in Fjällbacka late last night and were now staying with her aunt.
Erica set the bags of groceries on the kitchen table and began putting away the food. Despite all her good intentions, the bags were not as full of staples as she had planned before she walked into the shop. But if she couldn’t buy herself treats on a day as miserable as this, when could she? As if on signal, her stomach started growling. With a flourish, she plopped twelve Weight Watchers points onto a plate in the form of two cinnamon buns. She ate them with a cup of coffee.
It felt wonderful to sit and look at the familiar view outside her window, but she still hadn’t got used to the silence in the house. She had been at home alone before, of course, but it wasn’t the same thing. Back then there had been a presence, an awareness that somebody could walk through the door at any moment. Now it seemed as if the soul of the house had gone.
Pappa’s pipe lay by the window, waiting to be filled with tobacco. The smell still lingered in the kitchen, but Erica thought it was getting fainter each day.
She had always loved the smell of a pipe. When she was little she often sat on her father’s lap and closed her eyes as she leaned against his chest. The smoke from the pipe had settled in all his clothing, and the scent had meant security in the world of her childhood.
Erica’s relationship with her mother was infinitely more complicated. She couldn’t remember a single time when she was growing up that she’d ever received a sign of tenderness from her mother; not a hug, a caress, or a word of comfort. Elsy Falck was a hard and unforgiving woman who kept their home in impeccable order but who never allowed herself to be happy about anything in life. She was deeply religious, and like many in the coastal communities of Bohuslän, she had grown up in a town that was still marked by the teachings of Pastor Schartau. Even as a child she had been taught that life would be endless suffering; the reward would come in the next life. Erica had often wondered what her father, with his good nature and humorous disposition, had seen in Elsy, and on one occasion in her teens she had blurted out the question in a moment of fury. He didn’t get angry. He just sat down and put his arm round her shoulders. Then he told her not to judge her mother too harshly. Some people have a harder time showing their feelings than others, he explained as he stroked her cheeks, which were still flushed with rage. She refused to listen to him then, and she was still convinced that he was only trying to cover up what was so obvious to Erica: her mother had never loved her, and that was something she would have to carry with her for the rest of her life.
Erica decided on impulse to visit Alexandra’s parents. Losing a parent was hard, but it was still part of the natural order of things. Losing a child must be horrible. Besides, she and Alexandra had once been as close as only best friends can be. Of course, that was almost twenty-five years ago, but so many of her happiest childhood memories were intimately associated with Alex and her family.
The house looked deserted. Alexandra’s maternal aunt and uncle lived in Tallgatan, a street halfway between the centre of Fjällbacka and the Sälvik campground. All the houses were perched high up on a slope, and their lawns slanted steeply down towards the road on the side facing the water. The main door was in the back of the house, and Erica did not hesitate before ringing the doorbell. The sound reverberated and then died out. Not a peep was heard from inside, and she was just about to turn and leave when the door slowly opened.
‘Yes?’
‘Hi, I’m Erica Falck. I’m the one who …’
She left the rest of her sentence hanging in mid-air. She felt foolish for introducing herself so formally. Alex’s aunt, Ulla Persson, knew very well who she was. Erica’s mother and Ulla had been active in the church group together for many years, and sometimes Ulla would come over on Sundays for coffee.
She stepped aside and let Erica into the entryway. Not a single light was lit in the entire house. Of course, it wouldn’t be evening for several hours yet, but the afternoon dusk was beginning to descend and the shadows were growing longer. Muted sobs could be heard from the room straight down the hall. Erica took off her shoes and coat. She caught herself moving extremely quietly and cautiously because the mood in the house permitted nothing else. Ulla went into the kitchen and let Erica find her own way. When she entered the living room, the weeping stopped. On a sectional sofa in front of an enormous picture window, Birgit and Karl-Erik Carlgren sat desperately holding on to each other. Both had wet streaks running down their faces, and Erica felt that she was trespassing in an extremely private space. Perhaps she shouldn’t intrude. But it was too late to worry about that now.
She sat down cautiously on the sofa facing them and clasped her hands in her lap. No one had yet uttered a word since she entered the room.
‘How did she look?’
At first Erica didn’t understand what Birgit had said. Her voice was tiny, like a child’s. Erica didn’t know what to answer.
‘Lonely,’ was what finally came out, and she regretted it at once. ‘I didn’t mean …’ The sentence faded away and was absorbed by the silence.
‘She didn’t kill herself!’
Birgit’s voice all at once sounded strong and determined. Karl-Erik squeezed his wife’s hand and nodded in agreement. They probably noticed Erica’s sceptical expression, because Birgit repeated: ‘She didn’t kill herself! I know her better than anyone, and I know that she would never be capable of taking her own life. She would never have had the courage to do it! You must realize that. You knew her too!’
She straightened up a bit more with each syllable, and Erica saw a spark light up in her eyes. Birgit was opening and closing her hands convulsively, over and over, and she looked Erica straight in the eye until one of them was forced to look away. It was Erica who yielded first. She shifted her gaze to look around the room. Anything to avoid fixing her eyes on the grief of Alexandra’s mother.
The room was cosy but a bit over-decorated for Erica’s taste. The curtains had been skilfully hung with enormous flounces matching the sofa pillows that had been sewn from the same floral fabric. Knick-knacks covered every available surface. Hand-carved wooden bowls decorated with ribbons with cross-stitch embroidery shared the room with porcelain dogs with eternally moist eyes. What saved the room was the panoramic window. The view was wonderful. Erica wished that she could freeze the moment and keep looking out the window instead of being drawn into the grief of these people. Instead she turned her gaze back to the Carlgrens.
‘Birgit, I’m really not sure. It was twenty-five years ago that Alexandra and I were friends. I really don’t know a thing about her. Sometimes you just don’t know someone as well as you think you do …’
Even
