would have appreciated it if one of us took a practical view of the matter. I mean, when would we use the house? Lucas and I would rather buy a summer place in the Stockholm archipelago so we have something closer. What are you going to do with that house anyway?’
Lucas smiled scornfully at Erica as he patted Anna on the back with phoney concern. She still hadn’t dared meet Erica’s gaze.
Once again, Erica was struck by how tired her little sister looked. She was thinner than usual, and the black dress she wore was loose around the bust and waist. She had dark circles under her eyes, and Erica thought she saw a blue shadow under the powder on her right cheekbone. Her rage at the powerlessness of the situation hit her with full force and she fixed her eyes on Lucas. He returned her gaze with composure. Having come directly from work, he was wearing his professional uniform: a graphite-grey suit with a blinding white shirt and a shiny dark-grey tie. He looked elegant and sophisticated. Erica was sure that many women found him attractive. But she thought he had a cruel streak that acted like a filter over his facial features. His face was angular with sharp cheekbones and firm jawline. This was accentuated even more because he always combed his hair straight back from his high forehead. He didn’t look the typical ruddy Englishman; he was more like a Norwegian with light-blond hair and icy blue eyes. His upper lip was curved and full like a woman’s, giving him an indolent, almost decadent expression. Erica noticed that his eyes drifted down to her décolletage, and she instinctively pulled her jacket closed. He registered her reaction, which annoyed her. She didn’t want him to see that he had any sort of effect on her.
When the meeting was finally over, Erica simply turned on her heel and walked out the door without bothering to say any polite words of farewell. As far as she was concerned, everything had been said that could be said. She would be contacted by someone who would come to appraise the house, and then the house would be put on the market as soon as possible. No amount of persuasion had done any good. She had lost.
She had sublet her flat in Vasastan to a pleasant couple studying for their doctorates, so she couldn’t go back there. Since she didn’t feel like setting off on the five-hour drive to Fjällbacka for a while, she parked the car in the garage at Stureplan and went over to sit in Humlegårdsparken. She needed to collect her thoughts. The peacefulness in the lovely park that felt like an oasis in the middle of Stockholm offered just the right meditative atmosphere she needed.
Snow must have just fallen over the city; the grass was still white. In Stockholm, it only took a day or two for snow to turn into a dirty-grey slush. She placed her mittens on a park bench and then sat down on them as protection under her seat. Urinary tract infections were nothing to play around with; that was the last thing she needed right now.
She let her thoughts drift as she watched the crowd of people rushing by on the path. It was the middle of the lunch rush. She had almost forgotten how stressed the mood could be in Stockholm. Everyone was always in a rush, chasing after something they never really could catch. She suddenly longed for Fjällbacka. She probably hadn’t realized how much she had settled in there over the past few weeks. Certainly she’d had a lot to deal with, but at the same time she’d discovered a peace inside herself that she never found in Stockholm. If you were alone in Stockholm, you were completely isolated. In Fjällbacka you were never alone, which could be both good and bad. People cared about their neighbours and kept tabs on them. Sometimes it could go too far; Erica didn’t care for all the gossip, but as she sat here watching the bustle of the city she felt that she could never return to this.
Like so many times recently, her thoughts turned to Alex. Why had she driven to Fjällbacka every weekend? Who was she meeting there? And the ten-thousand-krona question: who was the father of the child she was expecting?
All at once, Erica remembered the piece of paper she had stuffed into her jacket pocket as she stood in the dark in the wardrobe. She didn’t understand how she could have forgotten about it when she got home the day before yesterday. She felt in her right-hand pocket and pulled out a wrinkled sheet of paper. With fingers that had grown stiff without mittens, she carefully unfolded the paper and smoothed it out.
It was a copy of an article from Bohusläningen. There was no date, but based on the typeface and a black-and-white picture, she could see that it wasn’t recent. Judging from the photo, it dated from the seventies. She easily recognized both people in the picture and the story recounted in the article. Why had Alex saved this article at the bottom of a bureau drawer?
Erica stood up and put the article back in her pocket. There was no answer to be found here. It was time to go home.
The funeral was tasteful and reverential. Fjällbacka Church was far from full. Most people hadn’t known Alexandra but were there merely to satisfy their curiosity. Family and friends sat in the front pews. Besides Alex’s parents and Henrik, Erica recognized only Francine. She had a tall blond man next to her in the pew, who Erica assumed was her husband. Otherwise, there weren’t many friends. They filled only two rows of pews, confirming Erica’s image of Alex. She had certainly had numerous acquaintances, but few close friends. There were only a few curiosity-seekers scattered here and there in the rest of the church.
Erica had taken a seat up in the balcony. Birgit had caught sight of her outside the church and invited her to sit with them. She had politely declined. It would have felt hypocritical to sit there amongst family and friends. Alex was actually a stranger to her.
Erica squirmed on the uncomfortable pew. All through their childhood she and Anna had been dragged to church on Sundays. For a child, it had been terribly boring to sit through long sermons and hymns whose melodies were hopelessly difficult to learn. To amuse herself Erica had made up stories in her head. Numerous sagas about dragons and princesses had been composed here without ever being committed to paper. In Erica’s teenage years, her church attendance was much less frequent because of her vehement protests. When she did go along, the sagas were replaced by stories with a more romantic theme. Ironically enough, she actually had this forced church attendance to thank, or blame, for her choice of profession.
Erica still hadn’t embraced any type of religion; for her a church was a beautiful building steeped in traditions, nothing more. The sermons of her childhood had prompted no desire to accept a faith. They often dealt with hell and sin; they lacked the bright belief in God that she knew existed but had never personally experienced. Much had changed. Now a woman stood before the altar, dressed in a pastor’s robes, and instead of eternal damnation she spoke of light, hope and love. Erica wished that this view of God had been offered to her when she was growing up.
From her hidden place in the balcony, she saw a young woman sitting next to Birgit in the first pew. Birgit was holding the woman’s hand in a convulsive grip, and occasionally she leaned her head on her shoulder. Erica thought she recognized her. The young woman must be Julia, Alex’s little sister. She was too far away for Erica to see her face, but she noticed that Julia seemed to flinch at Birgit’s touch. Julia withdrew her hand each time Birgit took it, but her mother either pretended not to notice or was truly unaware of her daughter’s reaction, due to the state she was in.
Sunshine flowed in through the high stained-glass windows. The pews were hard and uncomfortable, and Erica felt the beginning of a dull ache in her lower back. She was grateful that the ceremony was relatively short. When it was over she sat there and looked down on the people slowly wandering out of the church.
Outdoors the sun was almost unbearably bright in a cloudless sky. A procession of people walked down the little hill to the churchyard and the newly-dug grave where Alex’s coffin would be buried.
Until her parents’ funeral, she had never thought about how burials were done in the winter, when the ground was frozen. Now she knew that an area was heated so that the ground could be dug up. An area just big enough to hold all the coffins that were to be interred.
On
