Liv

by Mikaela Bley

  ‘I know, I’ve heard that talk a thousand times. Now is when you reel off that bit about how paedophiles become paedophiles because their brains work the same way.’

  He looked at her with surprise. ‘More or less the same.’

  ‘I thought you were alternative.’

  ‘You have to try to rid yourself of this to be able to live a normal life. It’s hellish to work through, but necessary. Right now, it’s as if you’re trying to put a lid on it.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I don’t think that that’s the right path for you. You don’t want to lift the lid, because you’re afraid of what you’ll find. You’ve repressed so much from that day — from that time. I would probably say that you have memory blocks that you have to remove in order to move on. I’m no expert in the area, but I think—’

  Ellen looked away. ‘I saw a policeman today. He worked on Elsa’s disappearance.’

  ‘I see.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Did it upset you?’

  ‘To say the least. He doesn’t think that Elsa’s death was an accident.’

  ‘Do you think he’s right?’

  ‘I’m not sure, all I know is that I wasn’t surprised when he told me that. It was as if I’d heard it before, although I haven’t. There was a lot of what he said that I’d never heard about. Why don’t I remember everything that happened?’

  ‘For natural reasons: you were eight years old. But you have also repressed things. It was a trauma.’

  ‘Can you repress memories?’

  ‘There is a lot of research on that, and the truth is, we don’t really know. There is very little to support the idea that it would actually work. On the contrary, the problem is usually that the person affected can’t stop thinking about the trauma. On the other hand, false memories can be created and experienced as real. A person can have difficulty distinguishing between false and true memories. Memory can be affected by emotional stress, which is why the person affected sometimes blames themselves for what happened.’

  She tried to understand. ‘My mother gave me sedatives when Elsa disappeared.’

  ‘Yes, that may also have affected your memory somewhat. You know, Ellen, I think perhaps you need more professional help than I can offer you.’

  She stared into his eyes. ‘So, you don’t want me here any more?’ It was like a slap in the face. No one wanted her, no one could cope with her, not even her therapist or whatever he was.

  ‘I didn’t say that. You can continue to come here, but I don’t know if I can help you completely.’

  ‘Do you mean I need medical help?’

  ‘Yes, among other things.’

  ‘You can’t cope with me?’

  ‘Yes, of course I can, you mustn’t misunderstand me — I’m happy to continue talking with you, but …’

  ‘Sometimes I wonder how it got like this — what’s wrong with me? How did things work out that I ended up in all this? What was it that made everything turn out the way it did?’

  ‘Life.’ He smiled cautiously. ‘What would happen if you try to talk to your parents about what happened?’

  ‘No one will talk to me.’ She wiped away a tear from her cheek.

  ‘But, if I’ve understood the whole thing correctly, it’s your parents who want you to see me and deal with the past?’

  ‘They don’t want to put up with me any more.’ Ellen knew that she sounded like a sulky teenager, but couldn’t help it. ‘Everyone wants this to end, but no one wants to talk about it.’

  ALEXANDRA

  2.30 P.M.

  Alexandra parked near the train station, right between two other cars on the same little patch next to the rails. She avoided the big parking lot so as not to run into anyone she knew.

  There was a lone person sitting in each of the cars. Either they were waiting for someone, or they didn’t want to go home. There was a crushing triviality about it all.

  She turned off the engine, but immediately wished she’d kept the air conditioning on.

  Her thoughts were flighty, but time passed so terribly slowly. Every time she looked at the clock, the display didn’t seem to have changed.

  There was a knock on the window.

  ‘Bea?’ She rolled down the window.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m just resting a little before I go home. Reading a book,’ was the only thing she could come up with.

  ‘Yeah? Where’s the book?’ Bea looked around in the car. She smelt of smoke. Couldn’t she just go away?

  ‘In my bag, I haven’t taken it out yet.’

  Bea’s eyes were dark. Alexandra looked down at her lap and took a few deep breaths. ‘Will you leave me in peace,’ she whispered, barely audible.

  ‘What? You’re sick in the head, just sitting here.’ Bea hit the door with her arm, then she kicked at it.

  Alexandra shrank back, and even though Bea wasn’t actually hitting her, it hurt. She gripped onto her arm and watched her daughter as she disappeared between the cars in the big parking lot.

  She stuck her head out the window. ‘Bea!’

  But she didn’t even turn around.

  Just as well, thought Alexandra, even as she wished she could hug her, remove that darkness that had settled between them. Which she had been part of creating. Her mother-in-law’s words reverberated loudly in her head, and her guilty conscience throbbed with the same frequency.

  The Stockholm train flew by at the same pace as her thoughts came and went. Ordinary people on their way home from work streamed out onto the platform. She wished she was one of them. Or rather, that she was sitting on the train, pulling away.

  It was hot in the car, and it was almost worse to have the window rolled down.

  Patrik had texted her after the interview and ordered her to drive down to the station. There was thirty minutes left. Typical of Hanna to be late.

  To make the time pass, she took out her phone and went on Instagram. Scrolled down through the pictures of various gardens. Beautiful, peaceful images in various shades of green. She didn’t read the comments; she just let the pictures speak for themselves. She could almost smell the fragrances.

  After fifteen minutes, she could hardly breathe in the car. It was starting to look like rain. She was nervous and still disappointed in Patrik. This was not her responsibility, but he still hadn’t come back from his job in Stockholm.

  Then she saw Hanna’s car drive up into the big parking lot outside the station. Her heart started beating faster. Before she had time to think about it any more, she got out of the car and walked quickly over to Hanna, who was taking the suitcases out of the car. Fortunately, the children were still in the car and didn’t have to hear what she had to say.

  ‘You can’t go,’ she said curtly.

  Hanna turned around. ‘Alexandra, what are you doing here?’

  ‘Patrik sent me. You can’t take off with the kids. Come home with me so we can talk this over.’

  ‘No, I’ve decided. I don’t want to stay here any longer, and you can’t stop me.’

  ‘I think you have to stay. Patrik will be completely devastated if you take the children with you. And according to him, the police found your fingerprints on Liv’s phone. Patrik sent me a text and told me. Here, look!’ She handed over her phone. ‘Apparently, the police have been trying to get hold of you, and because you haven’t been answering, I was forced to come here.’

  ELLEN

  10.00 P.M.

  Darkness had settled over Örelo, and there was no wind. The air was humid and the heat still potent. The island felt deserted, the buzzing of insects the only sound. Margareta’s car was not in the parking area, and Ellen’s initial thought was one of relief. She didn’t have the energy to talk any more today, she was much too fragile, even as she felt so alone.

  She hardly knew what she
’d been doing since she’d seen Dr Hiralgo earlier in the day. As with last time, she drove around aimlessly, trying to sort out her thoughts. She’d called Jimmy several times, but he still wasn’t answering, and that made her sad. For once, though, she’d accepted and embraced the feeling. Allowed herself to be sad.

  Ellen went in through the kitchen entrance, which was unlocked as usual. She kicked off her shoes and drank a glass of water before she went on, past the lounge rooms, the library, and out into the big hall. She was barefoot and didn’t want to go into the big rooms without shoes. When she was little, she’d been told that the wood was toxic. If you got a splinter, you could be poisoned. A truth she hadn’t re-evaluated as an adult, it had stuck with her, and whether or not it was true, she still had a fear of it. In any case, the dark rooms didn’t look particularly inviting.

  She stopped in front of the long, curved stone staircase that led to the top floor. They rarely used it, only if they had guests, and that probably hadn’t happened since Elsa had disappeared. She stared up into the darkness.

  There were creaks and noises all around her, almost as if the old castle wanted to tell her something. She had to struggle not to let fear take over. They were sounds she would never get used to. She couldn’t for the life of her understand that her mother lived there alone.

  ‘Hello?’ she called instinctively, but only got an echo in response. ‘Hello?’ Still only the echo, bouncing back.

  The old paintings on the walls were hard to make out in the darkness, and even though she knew the subjects well, they felt threatening.

  Ellen thought about everything that had been said today. Tried to make sense of all the loose threads, but didn’t know where to begin. She twirled around a few times on the cool stone floor, and then went into the pitch-black TV room. Margareta’s worn armchair stood empty. She turned on the floor lamp and glanced at the crossword puzzles on the coffee table. For some reason, it gave her a stab in the chest: Margareta’s loneliness became so real that it filled the whole room. There were photos hanging on the walls. Ellen looked at them one at a time. They were family photos. Pictures of Ellen and Elsa and big brother Peder in various perfect configurations. It was as if time had stopped right then and there.

  She went over to the desk and turned on the library lamp. The green light lit up the empty, tidy surface. When she was younger, the drawers and cabinets had always been locked, but now that Margareta lived alone, there would be no reason to lock them, would there? Ellen turned the handle and pulled out the top drawer. Instinctively, she closed it again. She had no right to root around in her mother’s things, that had been ingrained in her. After just a few seconds, she pulled the drawer out again anyway.

  It was stuffed full of things, and Ellen smirked at how nice it looked on the surface, while great disorder prevailed below.

  There were books about twins. Identical twins. She picked up one of them and read a little. ‘What Twins Can Feel for Each Other’. These were old books, from the eighties. Ellen could imagine that a lot had happened on the research front since then. Losing a Twin. She read the back cover. ‘You may feel guilt about being the one who survived, when it really ought to have been the opposite.’ Blah, blah, blah, she thought, putting the book back. But the truth was that that was exactly how it was, she just didn’t like reading about it like that, as if there was a template for how you should feel.

  At that time, having twins hadn’t been as common, or at least, it was treated as if it wasn’t. Today, it felt like every other couple had twins. She could really see how her mother had managed to make a big deal of having had twins. The lady with the twins. Mistress of a castle with twins. Ellen and Elsa von Platen, as they were called then. Maybe that identity had disappeared for Margareta when Elsa died?

  In addition to the books, the drawer was full of various documents and envelopes, and Ellen let her hand rummage around among them.

  There were little matchboxes and other odds and ends that her mother had collected over the years. She picked up a thick, over-stuffed envelope that appeared to be rather old.

  She heard a sound and jumped. The envelope slipped out of her hands and the contents fell out onto the floor.

  Ellen crouched down to gather up the papers and saw that they were invoices. She picked one up and read it. It was from Didrik. She picked up another one. Also an invoice from Didrik. Grain. The most recent one had been sent only two weeks ago. It was so much money. Why was her mother buying grain from Didrik? A new sound stopped her reading more. Ellen pushed the invoices into the envelope and went to put it back in the drawer.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Margareta came towards her. ‘You have no right to snoop in my desk.’

  ‘Sorry, but I found an envelope.’

  ‘That’s not anything you need to worry yourself about.’

  ‘Why not? Have you been buying grain from Didrik?’

  ‘It’s none of your business, but yes. It’s fodder, for the pigs.’

  ‘But I thought that was the whole idea, that we grew the fodder ourselves in our own fields.’

  ‘It’s not that simple.’

  ‘No, sorry. I wasn’t meaning to criticise you. I just thought it looked like a lot of money per month.’ Was Didrik cheating her mother? ‘I think you’re doing a first-rate job with the estate. Sorry.’ She placed her hand on Margareta’s shoulder and met her tired gaze.

  HANNA

  10.30 P.M.

  Stoffe and the kids were sitting on the couch watching TV when she came in the door after having been at yet another long interview with the police. Without taking off her shoes, she went up to them, picked up the remote control from the table, and turned off the TV.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Karl hollered.

  Stoffe stared at her with hollow eyes. ‘Weren’t you going to call so I could pick you up? How did it go?’

  He hadn’t shaved for several days, and it looked like he’d lost weight. For some strange reason, she felt sorry for him.

  ‘Go to bed now, kids. Dad and I need to talk, and there’s school tomorrow.’

  ‘Urgh!’

  ‘Now!’ She really didn’t have the energy for yet another fight with her son. Their relationship was fragile enough as it was, and it made her whole body hurt when she thought about how he’d betrayed her. But there would be a change; she tried to look ahead.

  Alice looked terrified and did as she was told. Karl followed reluctantly.

  Hanna went into the kitchen and took out the only bottle of wine she had, uncorked it, and searched for the pack of cigarettes she’d hidden in the broom closet a few months earlier, when things were starting to get strange at home.

  She took two wine glasses and went to the patio door. ‘Come on, let’s go outside,’ she said to Stoffe. She sat down on one of the plastic chairs on the patio. He came out after a while. ‘Sit down,’ she said firmly.

  He did as she said, and she filled the glasses to the brim.

  It was totally still, and the garden smelt wonderful. It was almost as hot as a sauna, and she didn’t have the energy to care about the mosquitoes and insects crawling on her. Hanna took out a cigarette and lit it.

  ‘You smoke?’

  She didn’t reply and took a deep drag instead. When she exhaled, she shaped her mouth to blow smoke rings. The technique was still there from when she was a teenager, and she was fascinated by how perfectly she managed to form them.

  ‘I read, once, that if you’re in love with two people, you should choose the second one. Because if you were sufficiently in love with the first one, you would never have fallen in love with the second.’ She stole a glance at Stoffe and sipped the slightly sour wine. ‘But I dismissed that, and actually, I still think that you can be in love with more than one person at the same time, but what is all that worth if I can’t feel friendship and trust. I don’t want my children to grow up thinkin
g that relationships should be like this. I want them to grow up with love, honesty, and openness.’ She put out the cigarette on the patio and left a mark, but she didn’t care. Stoffe had sense enough not to comment. ‘I’m not like Alexandra, I would rather lie on the couch making out than polish silver. I think there should be burn marks and scratches on the floor, so you can see someone really lives there. There’s so much I don’t understand about Alexandra. Liv, I didn’t know, of course, although she didn’t make an especially good impression. Regardless, I neither can nor want to identify with them.’

  ‘What are you trying to say, Hanna?’

  He sounded impatient and condescending, but she didn’t care. Not any more.

  She took a big gulp of wine, and her throat burnt. ‘I told everything to the police, every little detail. I’m going to say the same thing to you now, and then I want you to leave here.’ She looked at him to check that he understood the seriousness.

  Stoffe nodded nervously and took a sip from his glass.

  ‘I told them about how absent you’ve been recently, since you met Liv. I don’t know what kind of relationship you two had, but you don’t think I missed all your bruises and scratch marks, do you?’ She didn’t let him answer, because she didn’t want to know. ‘And I know you weren’t at work the night that Liv was murdered.’

  Stoffe ran his hand through his hair, sat with his legs wide apart, and leant his elbows on his legs dejectedly.

  ‘And, to be quite honest, I don’t want to know where you were.’

  ‘Hanna, I was with Liv. It was the two of you who made me lie about it. I said I was at work because both you and Alexandra would have been angry if I’d said that I wanted to be with Liv.’

  ‘Exactly, there’s the trust problem again.’ Hanna was surprised at how indifferent she felt about what he said. ‘When you introduced Liv, I felt like I’d been deceived. You’d gone behind both our backs. It wasn’t about jealousy, it was about a trust that you broke.’