The Stone Cutter

by Camilla Lackberg

  'What about Niclas?'

  'Oh no, Niclas is perfect in Mamma's eyes. She coos and fawns all over him and feels sorry that he has such a worthless wife. He can do no wrong as far as she's concerned.'

  'But doesn't he see how she treats you?'

  'Like I said, he's almost never at home. And she's on her best behaviour whenever he's around. You know what he said yesterday when I had the audacity to complain? "But Charlotte, dear, why can't you just give in a little?" Give in a little? If I gave in any more I'd be completely obliterated. It made me so mad that I haven't said a word to him since. So now he's probably sitting there at work feeling sorry for himself because he has such an unreasonable wife. No wonder I came down with the world's worst migraine this morning.'

  A sound from upstairs made Charlotte get up reluctantly.

  'Erica, I've got to run upstairs and see to Albin. Otherwise Mamma will be doing the whole martyr bit before I get there… But remember, I'm coming by this afternoon with some pastries. Here I've been going on about myself, and I haven't even asked how you're doing. But I'll be over later.'

  She hung up and combed her fingers quickly through her hair before she took a deep breath and went upstairs.

  It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this at all. She had ploughed through lots of books about having a child and what life would be like as a parent, but nothing she'd read had prepared her for the reality of the situation. Instead, she felt that everything that had been written was part of a huge plot. The authors raved about happy hormones and floating on a pink cloud as you held your baby, feeling a totally overwhelming natural love-at-first-sight towards the little bundle of joy. Of course it was mentioned, in passing, that you would probably be more exhausted than you'd ever been in your life. But even that fact was surrounded by a romantic halo and deemed to be part of the wondrous motherhood package.

  Bullshit! was Erica's honest assessment after two months as a mother. Lies, propaganda, utter crap! She had never in her entire life felt so miserable, tired, angry, frustrated and worn out as she had since Maja arrived. And she hadn't experienced any all- consuming love when the red, shrieking, and yes, ugly bundle was placed on her breast. Even though her maternal feelings had crept in ever so slowly, it still felt as though a stranger had invaded their home. Sometimes she almost regretted she and Patrik had decided to have a child. They'd been getting along so well, just the two of them. Then the selfishness they shared with the rest of humanity had combined with their desire to see their own excellent genes reproduced. In one stroke they had changed their lives and reduced her to a round-the-clock milking machine.

  How such a little baby could be so ravenous was beyond her comprehension. Maja was constantly clinging to Erica's breasts, swollen with milk, which had also exploded in size so that she felt that she was just two huge walking breasts. Nor was her physique in general anything to cheer about. When she came home from the maternity hospital she still looked very pregnant, and the kilos had not dropped away as fast as she wanted. Her only consolation was that Patrik had also gained weight when she was pregnant, eating like a horse. Now he too carried a few extra kilos around the middle.

  Thank goodness the pain was almost gone by now, but she still felt sweaty, bloated, and generally lousy. Her legs had not seen a razor in several months, and she was in desperate need of a haircut and maybe some highlights to get rid of the mousy-brown colour of her normally blonde, shoulder-length hair. Erica got a dreamy look in her eye, but then reality took over. How the hell could she get out of the house to do that? Oh, how she envied Patrik. For at least eight of the hours in the day he could be in the real world, the world of grown-ups. Nowadays her only company was Ricki Lake and Oprah Winfrey, as she listlessly zapped the remote while Maja sucked and sucked.

  Patrik assured Erica that he would rather stay home with her and Maja than go to work, but she could see in his eyes that what he really felt was relief at being able to escape their little world for a while. And she sympathized. At the same time she could feel bitterness growing inside her. Why did she have to bear such a heavy load when it had been a mutual decision and should have been a mutual project? Shouldn't he carry an equal share of the burden?

  So every day she kept close tabs on the time he had promised to come home. If he was only five minutes late she would be consumed by annoyance, and if he lingered even longer he could expect a real onslaught of fury. As soon as he came in the door she would dump Maja into his arms, if his arrival coincided with one of the rare breaks in her breastfeeding schedule. Then Erica would fall into bed wearing earplugs, just to get away from the shrieks of the baby for a while.

  Erica sighed as she sat holding the phone in her hand. Everything seemed so hopeless. But her chats with her friend were a welcome break in the gloom. As the mother of two kids Charlotte was a steady rock to lean on, and full of calm assurances. Erica was ashamed to admit that it was also rather nice to listen to her hardships instead of always focusing merely on her own.

  Of course, there was one other source of concern in Erica's life - her sister Anna. She had only talked to her a few times since Maja was born, and she felt that something was not as it should be. Anna sounded subdued and distant when they talked on the phone, but claimed that everything was fine. And Erica was so wrapped up in her own misery that she didn't feel like pressing her sister for more information. But something was wrong, she was sure of that.

  She pushed aside the troubling thoughts and shifted Maja from one breast to the other, which made the baby fuss a bit. Listlessly she picked up the remote and changed the channel. 'Glamour' was about to start. The only thing she had to look forward to was this afternoon's coffee break with Charlotte.

  Lilian stirred the soup with brisk strokes. She had to do everything in this house. Cook, clean, and take care of the kids. At least Albin had finally gone to sleep. Her expression softened at the thought of her grandson. He was a little angel. Hardly made a peep. Not at all like the other one. She frowned and stirred even faster, making little drops of soup splash over the edge to sizzle and stick to the surface of the stove.

  She had already prepared a tray on the worktop with glasses, soup plates, and spoons. Now she carefully took the pot from the stove and poured the hot soup into the bowl. She inhaled the aroma rising up with the steam and smiled contentedly. Chicken soup, that was Stig's favourite. She hoped that he would eat it with a good appetite.

  She cautiously picked up the tray and, using her elbow, pushed open the door to the stairs. Always this dashing up and down stairs, she thought peevishly. Some day she'd end up lying at the bottom with a broken leg, and then they'd see how hard it was to get along without her. She did everything for them, like a house slave. At this very moment, for instance, Charlotte was downstairs in the basement loafing in bed, with some lame excuse about a migraine. What bloody rubbish. If there was anyone with a migraine around here it was Lilian herself. She couldn't imagine how Niclas could stand it. All day long he worked hard at the clinic, doing his best to support the family, and then came home to a basement where it looked like a bomb had gone off. Just because they were living there only temporarily didn't mean they couldn't clean up and keep the place tidy. And Charlotte had the nerve to insist that her husband help her take care of the kids when he came home in the evening. What she ought to do instead was let him rest after a hard day's work, sit in peace in front of the TV and keep the kids away as best she could. No wonder the older girl was so impossible. No doubt she could see how little respect her mother showed her father. It could lead to only one thing.

  With determined steps Lilian ascended the last steps to the top floor, taking the tray to the guest room. That was where she installed Stig when he was sick. It wouldn't do to have him moaning and groaning in the bedroom. If she was to take care of him properly, she had to get a good night's sleep.

  'Dear?' She cautiously pushed open the door. 'Wake up now, I'm bringing you a little something. It's your fav
ourite: chicken soup.'

  Stig wanly returned her smile. 'I'm not hungry, maybe later,' he said weakly.

  'Nonsense, you'll never get well if you don't eat properly. Come on, sit up a little and I'll feed you.'

  She helped him up to a half-sitting position and then sank down on the edge of the bed. As if he were a child, she fed him soup wiping off any dribbles at the corners of his mouth.

  'See, that wasn't so bad, was it? I know exactly what my darling needs, and if you just eat properly you'll be back on your feet in no time, you'll see.'

  Once again the same weak smile in reply. Lilian helped him lie hack down and pulled the blanket over his legs.

  'The doctor?'

  'But sweetie, have you entirely forgotten? It's Niclas who's the doctor now, so we have our very own doctor right here in the house. I'm sure he'll look in on you this evening. He just had to go over his diagnosis again, he said, and consult with a colleague In Uddevalla. It will all work out very soon, you'll see.'

  Lilian fussily tucked in her patient one last time and took the tray with the empty soup bowl. She headed for the stairs, shaking her head. Now she had to be a nurse as well, on top of everything else that needed her attention.

  She heard a knock at the front door and hurried downstairs.

  Patrik's hand struck the door with a sharp rap. Around them the wind had come up quickly to gale force. Droplets of rain were landing on them, not from above but from behind, as the stormy gusts whipped up a fine mist from the ground. The sky had turned dark, its light-grey hue streaked with darker grey clouds, and the dirty brown of the sea was far from its summery blue sparkle, with whitecaps now scudding along. There were white geese on the sea, as Patrik's mother used to say.

  The door opened and both Patrik and Martin took deep breaths in order to summon extra reserves of strength. The woman standing before them was a head shorter than Patrik and very, very thin. She had short hair curled in a permanent wave and tinted to an indeterminate brown shade. Her eyebrows were a bit too severely plucked and had been replaced by a couple of lines drawn with a kohl pencil, which gave her a slightly comical look. But there was nothing funny about the situation they were now facing.

  'Hello, we're from the police. We're looking for Charlotte Klinga.'

  'She's my daughter. What is this regarding?'

  Her voice was a bit too shrill to be pleasant. Patrik had heard enough about Charlotte's mother from Erica to know how trying it must be to listen to her all day long. But such trivial matters were about to lose any importance.

  'We'd appreciate it if you could tell her that we'd like to talk to her.'

  'Of course, but what's this all about?'

  Patrik insisted. 'We would like to speak with your daughter first. If you wouldn't mind -' He was interrupted by footsteps on the stairs, and a second later he saw Charlotte's familiar face appear in the doorway.

  'Well, hi, Patrik! How nice to see you! What are you doing here?'

  All at once an expression of concern settled on her face. 'Has something happened to Erica? I spoke to her recently and she sounded all right, I thought

  Patrik held up his hand. Martin stood silently at his side with his eyes fixed on a knothole on the floor. He usually loved his job, but at the moment he was cursing the day he'd decided to become a cop.

  'May we come in?'

  'Now you're making me nervous, Patrik. What's happened?' A thought struck her. 'Is it Niclas, did he have an accident in the car, or something?'

  'Let's go inside first.'

  Since neither Charlotte nor her mother seemed capable of budging from the spot, Patrik took charge and led them into the kitchen with Martin bringing up the rear. He noted absently that they hadn't taken off their shoes and were surely leaving wet footprints behind. But a little mud wouldn't make much difference now.

  He motioned to Charlotte and Lilian to take a seat across from them at the kitchen table, and they silently obeyed. Patrik and Martin sat down across from them.

  'I'm sorry, Charlotte, but I have…' he hesitated, 'terrible news for you.' The words lurched stiffly out of his mouth. His choice of words already felt wrong, but was there any right way to say what he had to say?

  'An hour ago a lobsterman found a little girl drowned. I'm so, so sorry, Charlotte…' Then he found himself incapable of going on. Even though the words were in his mind, they were so horrific that they refused to come out. But he didn't need to say any more.

  Charlotte gasped for breath with a wheezing, guttural sound. She grabbed the tabletop with both hands, as if to hold herself upright, and stared with empty eyes at Patrik. In the silence of the kitchen that single wheezing gasp seemed louder than a scream. Patrik swallowed to hold back the tears and keep his voice steady.

  'It must be a mistake. It couldn't be Sara!' Lilian looked wildly hack and forth between Patrik and Martin, but Patrik only shook his head.

  'I'm sorry,' he said again, 'but I just saw the girl and there's no doubt that it's Sara.'

  'But she said she was just going over to Frida's to play. I saw her heading that way. There must be some mistake. I'm sure she's over there playing.' As if in a trance Lilian got up and went over to the telephone on the wall. She checked the address book hanging next to it and briskly punched in the numbers.

  'Hello, Veronika, it's Lilian. Listen, is Sara over there?' She listened for a second and then dropped the receiver so it hung from the cord, swaying back and forth.

  'She hasn't been there.' She sat down heavily at the table and stared helplessly at the police officers facing her.

  The shriek came out of nowhere, and both Patrik and Martin jumped. Charlotte was screaming, motionless, with eyes that didn't seem to see. It was a loud, primitive, piercing sound. The raw pain that pitilessly forced out the scream gave both officers gooseflesh.

  Lilian threw herself at her daughter, trying to put her arms round her, but Charlotte brusquely batted her away.

  Patrik tried to talk over the scream. 'We've tried to get hold of Niclas, but he wasn't at the clinic. We left him a message to come home as soon as he can. And the pastor is on his way.' He directed his words more to Lilian than to Charlotte, who was now beyond their reach. Patrik knew that he'd handled the situation terribly. He should have made sure that a doctor was present to administer a sedative if needed. Unfortunately the only doctor in Fjällbacka was the girl's father, and they hadn't been able to get hold of him. He turned to Martin.

  'Ring the clinic on your mobile and see if you can get the nurse over here at once. And ask her to bring a sedative.'

  Martin did as he asked, relieved to have an excuse to leave the kitchen for a moment. Ten minutes later Aina Lundby came in without knocking. She gave Charlotte a pill to calm her down, and then with Patrik's help led her into the living room, so she could lie down on the sofa.

  'Shouldn't I be given a sedative too?' asked Lilian. 'I've always had bad nerves, and something like this

  The district nurse, who looked to be about the same age as Lilian, merely snorted and continued tucking a blanket round Charlotte with maternal care as she lay there, teeth chattering as if she were freezing.

  'You'll survive without it,' she said, gathering up her things.

  Patrik turned to Lilian and said softly, 'We'll probably have to talk to the mother of the friend Sara was going to visit. Which house is it?'

  'The blue one just up the street,' said Lilian without looking him in the eyes.

  By the time the pastor knocked on the door a few minutes later, Patrik felt that he and Martin had done all they could. They left the house which had been plunged into grief with their news and got into their car in the driveway. But Patrik didn't start the engine.

  'Bloody hell,' said Martin.

  'Bloody hell indeed,' said Patrik.

  Kaj Wiberg peered out of the kitchen window facing the Florins' driveway.

  'I wonder what the old cow's up to now?' he muttered petulantly.

  'What?' his wife Monica calle
d from the living room.

  He turned halfway in her direction and shouted back, 'There's a police car parked outside the Florins'. I bloody well bet there's some mischief going on. I've been saddled with that old woman as a neighbour to pay for my sins.'

  Monica came into the kitchen with a worried look. 'You really think it's about us? We haven't done anything.' She was combing her smooth, blonde page-boy but stopped with the comb in midair to peer out of the window.

  Kaj snorted. "Try to tell her that. No, just wait till the small claims court agrees with me about the balcony. Then she'll be standing there with egg on her face. I hope it'll cost her a bundle to tear it down.'

  'Yes, but do you think we're really doing the right thing, Kaj? I mean, it only sticks over a few centimetres into our property and it's not really bothering us. And now poor Stig is sick in bed and everything.'

  'Sick, oh yeah, thanks a lot. I'd be sick too if I had to live with that damn bitch. What's right is right. If they build a balcony that Infringes on our property, they're either going to have to pay or tear the bleeding thing down. They forced us to cut down our tree, didn't they? Our fine old birch tree, reduced to firewood, just because Lilian Florin thought it was blocking her view of the sea. Or am I wrong? Did I miss something here?' He turned spitefully towards his wife, incensed by the memory of all the injustices that had been done to them in the ten years they had been the florins' neighbours.

  'No, Kaj, you're quite right.' Monica looked down, well aware that retreat was the best defence when her husband got in this mood. For him Lilian Florin was like a red flag to a bull, and it was no use talking to him about common sense and reason when her name came up. Though Monica had to admit that it wasn't only Kaj's fault there had been so much trouble. Lilian wasn't easy to take, and if she'd only left them in peace it never would have come to this. Instead she had dragged them through one court appearance after another, for everything from incorrectly drawn property lines, a path that went through the lot behind her house, a garden shed that she claimed stood too close to her property, and not least the fine old birch tree they'd been forced to cut down a couple of years ago. And it had all started when they began building the house they lived in now. Kaj had just sold his office supply business for several million kronor, and they had decided to take early retirement, sell the house in Göteborg, and settle down in Fjällbacka where they had always spent their summers. But they certainly hadn't found much peace. Lilian had voiced a thousand objections to the new construction. She had organized petitions and collected complaints to try and put obstacles in their way. When she failed to stop them, she'd begun to quarrel with them about everything imaginable. Exacerbated by Kaj's volatile temperament, the feud between the neighbours had escalated beyond all common sense. The balcony that the Florins had built was only the latest bone of contention in the battle. The fact that it looked as though the Wibergs would win had given Kaj the high ground, and he was happy to exploit it.