Lycke

by Mikaela Bley

  The sound from the helicopter was fading away.

  ‘Are they done already? Didn’t they just get here? Shouldn’t they be searching for her with the helicopter?’

  ‘They’ve searched, but it’s almost impossible to see in the forest. And the open areas didn’t take them long to search. They didn’t see anything.’

  ‘We’ll break off here,’ said the commander, gesturing with her hands as though she was calling time-out.

  ‘Break off? What? Are you out of your minds? You can’t just stop searching now.’

  ‘Nothing else is going to happen tonight. We’ve done our search.’

  ‘But this is a child we’re talking about here! Have you talked with the cavalry? Maybe they can help search. The army? Call the stable! They’re right here on Lidingövägen.’ Ellen pointed towards the street, for emphasis. ‘You have to bring in more help!’

  ‘If you don’t leave us in peace, I’m afraid we’ll have to do something that none of us would like —’

  Ellen ignored the warning. ‘If you give up now, I’ll report it in tomorrow’s news. I’ll tell them that you didn’t do everything you could’ve. Tomorrow might be too late! Do you hear what I’m saying? Call in more people! You can’t just go home and go to bed.’

  ‘There is always more that we can do, but we have to be realistic, too,’ the commander said, rolling up the window. The other policemen retreated to their cars and then drove away, out onto Lidingövägen.

  ‘Realistic?!’ Ellen shouted after them.

  CHLOÉ

  3.45 A.M.

  Chloé was dreaming that she had lost all her teeth. Desperately, she picked them up, one by one, off the ground and tried to press them back into her gums, holding them in place with her fingers. But it was impossible to hold them all in at the same time. They kept spilling out.

  A persistent siren from out on the street woke her.

  ‘Harald!’ she called, sitting up on the couch. The sound of the siren faded away. Just to be sure, she felt around her mouth to check that her teeth were still in place, and heaved a sigh of relief when she confirmed it had only been a dream.

  The TV was still on at low volume — some kind of shopping channel showing exercise machines that could apparently perform miracles.

  She looked at her phone. It was a quarter past four in the morning. No missed calls. Had Harald come home? Had they found Lycke?

  ‘Harald!’ she called again, getting up from the warm, soft couch.

  She wiped under her eyes to check that her mascara hadn’t run. Then, tucking her blonde curls between her index and middle finger, she shaped her hair as if with a curling iron.

  She took the baby monitor from on top of the pile of mum magazines on the coffee table and set the volume to high. She heard her son’s light breathing. The tension in her neck and shoulders eased up. On the display, she could see Ludde. The image was a bit grainy, but she could see him lying there, so nice and calm in his crib.

  All she wanted was to go to him and pick him up. Hug him. Hold him tight. Never let go.

  A jumper had been tossed over one of the armchairs. She immediately felt herself becoming irritated. But, this time, the feeling quickly passed. She took the jumper and held it to her. I know, she told herself. She’s only a child.

  She made the rounds of the apartment, simply to make sure that Harald hadn’t come home. She tried calling his phone, but he didn’t answer. On her way into the kitchen, she tripped over some cans of paint that had been left in the middle of the floor. Her toe throbbed with pain and she cursed, irritated that they were never done with renovating. What kind of idiot left cans in the middle of the floor? Ludde couldn’t crawl around freely without the risk of hurting himself on the tools left lying everywhere, and he might ingest toxic paint. It couldn’t be healthy to live in all this construction dust, either. She must ask Harald to talk with the contractors. Again.

  The renovations had been going on since they’d bought the apartment over a year ago. They had stayed at Harald’s hotel for a few months when it was at its worst, but when the bedrooms and bathrooms were done, they’d moved back home. They couldn’t bear to stay at the hotel, living out of a backpack, any longer — constantly changing rooms whenever other guests took priority.

  During their stay at the hotel, she had hardly seen Harald. It was as though he welcomed the opportunity to work night and day, since he was at work anyway. Every other week, Lycke stayed there, too. And when they couldn’t stay in the suite, they needed two double rooms. Then, Harald and Lycke always shared a room.

  Each time, it was just as annoying at the last. Chloé knew that it was wrong to be jealous of a child, but she couldn’t help it. It felt like Harald was rejecting both her and Ludde.

  Harald had been quick to remind her that it was for her sake they were living there. She was the one who had wanted that apartment so much. And sure, she really had wanted the apartment, but didn’t he want it, too? They wanted it together, didn’t they?

  As soon as she became pregnant, they’d started looking for her dream apartment. Karlavägen was the only street she could imagine living on. That was where she had grown up — and all the schools she’d gone to were only a stone’s throw from there.

  It should be on the sunny side, she’d decided, with a view toward the row of trees running along the middle of the street. In the same block as the ICA Esplanad supermarket. She didn’t want to have to shop at the Co-op that farther up the street.

  As soon as they’d found an apartment that was big enough and in the right location, they pounced. The apartment was newly renovated when they bought it, but the previous owner had no taste, and the layout was far from optimal.

  They tore everything out.

  Chloé was about to make herself a cup of tea when she heard the key being turned in the front door. She set aside the kettle and hurried out to the hall.

  Harald stood, as if petrified, on the hall rug, staring into space. As if he didn’t even notice that she was there. His boots were covered in mud and his clothes were dripping wet.

  ‘Nothing?’ she asked.

  He shook his head. ‘Nothing.’

  He sounded so dejected.

  ‘It’s so terrible. Where can she be? What do the police say?’

  Harald didn’t respond. Instead, he sank down onto a chair.

  ‘We have to get you out of those wet clothes. You’re going to get sick.’ She tried to help him take off his jacket, but he waved her away.

  She took a few deep breaths and tried to be understanding.

  ‘Do you want anything? Tea? Water?’

  Harald put his head in his hands.

  She ran her fingers through his wet hair. Kissed him lightly on the forehead.

  ‘Tomorrow, Mother is coming to take care of Ludde. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to help search tonight. We’re going to find her. I promise.’

  Harald didn’t seem to be listening to what she was saying.

  ‘Tomorrow, it will all be over. Tomorrow, she’ll be here with us again.’ She tried to sound convincing.

  Harald got up and walked down the corridor toward the bedrooms. Halfway, he turned around and looked at her blankly. ‘I’m going to bed.’

  ‘Now?’ she said with surprise, unable to hide her disappointment. ‘Can’t we talk?’

  ‘I don’t have the energy. I need to sleep.’ He turned away from her and walked on. His boots left damp footprints trailing behind him on the newly laid fishbone parquet floor.

  ‘I’ve been sitting here worrying all evening. I called and called, and couldn’t get hold of you — and then you come home and just go to bed.’

  Anger struck her like a bolt of lightning.

  Harald stopped at Lycke’s room and opened the door. Turned on the light, and then quickly turned it off again. He looked down at th
e floor and continued toward their bedroom, at the far end of the corridor.

  She followed him.

  ‘Do you think this is my fault? I didn’t get your text. I didn’t know I was supposed to pick her up. You can check my phone if you don’t believe me.’

  Without answering, Harald lay down, fully clothed, on the bedspread.

  ‘Can you turn off the light?’ he asked her.

  Chloé stood in the doorway. ‘What is it then? Are you mad because I left her on Lidingövägen? You’re so over-protective. She is eight years old, after all. She can walk the last little bit, can’t she?’ she asked.

  ‘Absolutely, she can walk by herself. No, I’m not angry,’ he answered.

  The calm of his voice further provoked her anger.

  ‘You could at least take off your clothes.’

  Actually, she didn’t care what his wet clothes would do to the striped Missoni bedspread. But she was grasping for something, anything at all, that would get him to listen to her.

  Harald’s phone rang. Since he’d come home, it was the first thing he’d reacted to. He quickly pulled his phone from his trouser pocket and answered.

  ‘Hello? No, I don’t know. I just spoke with the police and they had no new information. They’ve given up long ago. Yes, I just came back. Absolutely, try to sleep now.’ He set the phone on the bedside table and accidentally knocked over the frame with the picture of her and Ludde that she had placed there.

  ‘Who was that?’ she asked, although she already knew.

  Harald curled up, still with his back to her.

  ‘Why don’t you answer when I’m talking to you?’ She sounded hysterical now; she could hear it, but she couldn’t stop herself.

  ‘Because you’re going to get even more angry if I say who it was, and to be honest I can’t deal with that right now.’

  ‘Why can you talk with Helena and not with me?’

  Jealousy had taken a firm hold of her.

  She approached the bed and took hold of his arm, attempting to turn him toward her. ‘Please, Harald, don’t close me out. Don’t you understand that I’ve been so worried. I’ve been trying to get hold of you all evening. Why don’t you talk to me?’

  Now the tears came.

  ‘Chloé, I’m not keeping you out. This isn’t about you. Try to understand that. Please, can we talk about this tomorrow? I have to sleep an hour or two before I can go out and search again. Don’t yell or you’ll wake Ludde.’

  Chloé pulled her bathrobe around her and left, slamming the door so hard the walls shook.

  She sank down on the floor outside the bedroom. This wasn’t the way she had imagined it would be.

  SATURDAY, 24 MAY

  ELLEN

  6.30 A.M.

  Ellen could barely type, her hands were still so frozen. Her dress was damp — she hadn’t been home to change.

  Instead, she’d gone straight to the office, anxious to release a description of the girl, and encourage viewers to contact the station if they’d seen or heard anything.

  She pulled off her wet, muddy shoes, and tucked her feet underneath her on the chair to try to warm them up.

  Since the police had made it clear they didn’t want to take any tip-offs due to a lack of resources, Ellen had asked an associate for help in setting up her own hotline number and an inbox to collect email, texts, and calls from the general public.

  She had searched for Lycke all night. At last, she’d gotten hold of the Missing People organisation, and after getting approval from the police and the parents, the group had sent out a description.

  It was amazing to see how many people they’d managed to put together on a cold, rainy Friday night. Almost two hundred people formed a search party in Lill-Jansskogen and North Djurgården. They searched in ditches, on bicycle paths, in the forest, in stairwells.

  But not a trace of Lycke could be found.

  Ellen manically checked the inbox for tips from viewers, but nothing of value had come in. People are still asleep in bed, she thought to herself. The few emails that had come in weren’t useful: someone had written that they had seen Astrid Lindgren’s prankster character, Emil, run Lycke up the flagpole at the Royal Palace; another had seen Lycke performing on Let’s Dance. Tiresome and disrespectful. It irritated her that Ove had been proven right. But even worse was the anxious feeling growing inside her.

  Ellen opened the browser and surfed on the ‘Flashback’ forum to see if they’d picked up anything. Under the category ‘Current Topics’ there was already a thread about Lycke. The description was there, alongside the picture Ellen had obtained from the police.

  Normal build. Height, four-foot eight. White tennis skirt and T-shirt. Pink tennis bag with racket. Long, light-brown hair.

  There was also a link to the piece from the news broadcast, and two brief notices from the tabloid websites. There was speculation that the father might have found out that the girl wasn’t his. That maybe he’d felt tricked and betrayed, as if he was living a lie.

  Ellen sighed and opened a new document to write down the information she’d procured about the family.

  The mother’s name was relatively common, and she wished it were possible to filter out irrelevant sports results for people with the same name. Likewise links to apartments that were up for sale. She found nothing of any value.

  She could find out nothing about Lycke, either. She was too young to have a presence on the internet, and no one had published her name as the missing girl. Yet.

  Ellen zoomed in on the photo of Lycke supplied by the police.

  The girl’s hair was fluttering in the wind. It looked like she was at the Skansen zoo, up by the moose.

  She was cute. She had an angelic face, with a small nose and clear eyes, and her long hair had a little natural wave. Her mouth was half open, and it looked like she had a gap in her front teeth.

  ‘Where are you?’ she whispered, as if the photo could give her an answer.

  ‘Who are you talking to?’

  She jumped. ‘Damn it, you scared me.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry. Are you okay?’ Jimmy studied her.

  She shrugged.

  ‘You’re here awfully early,’ he said.

  ‘You too,’ she answered, giving him a quick look. She couldn’t help wonder how his night had ended up. His hair was tousled and he was wearing jeans, a grey college hoodie, and camouflage-patterned Vans.

  ‘I’ve put together a news flash for the first broadcast.’

  ‘Good. What’s the angle?’

  ‘What do you mean? We’re encouraging the public to help us search for her. She’s out there somewhere and we have to find her. Have you spoken with the editor on News Morning? We have to put this in as many places as possible,’ she said, getting up. ‘Right now, I have to get some coffee.’ Ellen headed toward the kitchen.

  ‘You do know you don’t have any shoes on, right?’ said Jimmy, following her. ‘Wait.’

  Ellen stopped.

  ‘I was just talking with my source in the police and heard that you tried to call out the cavalry and Missing People — and whatever else there might be. My source also told me that you threatened to report that the police weren’t doing their job.’

  ‘You and your sources,’ Ellen replied, and continued walking.

  ‘We must maintain a good relationship with the police. It’s vital for our survival.’

  ‘Seriously?’ Ellen stopped and shook her head. ‘Finding the girl alive is vital. Literally. And if I understand you correctly, you also think that we shouldn’t care if the police make mistakes or don’t do their job?’

  ‘Calm down. Of course we should keep an eye on the authorities — but the police haven’t done anything wrong here. They have established procedures they have to follow,’ he continued.

  ‘Absolutely. So there
’s your angle: their procedures didn’t work. They didn’t find her.’

  ‘No, but you didn’t, either, even though you got the whole city involved. Correct?’

  She took a deep breath.

  ‘Was there anything else?’ she said, turning towards the kitchen cabinet without waiting for a reply.

  Does he really not remember?

  ‘Ellen?’

  ‘What?’ she said, reluctantly turning back around.

  ‘We have to talk.’

  ‘Talk then,’ she said, taking the last clean mug from the cabinet and setting it in the coffee machine. She pressed the button for extra-strong coffee. The machine rumbled, but no coffee came out.

  She jabbed at the button angrily.

  ‘Calm down,’ Jimmy said again.

  Ellen pushed the button again. To her great relief, Jimmy’s phone rang.

  ‘Wait, I have to take this,’ he said, moving away.

  Finally, coffee started pouring into the cup.

  ‘Jesus. Look what the cat dragged in. What is this? A walk-of-shame at work?’

  It was Philip. As usual, he spoke so loudly that everyone in the kitchen could hear, whether they wanted to or not.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear the same clothes two days in a row. And no shoes? How good was he?’ Philip flashed his dazzling smile at her. He smelled of detergent and newly washed hair.

  ‘Hi there,’ said Ellen, taking a sip of the freshly brewed coffee.

  ‘You do know that your eyes look like two shaved pussies, don’t you?’

  Ellen nearly sprayed coffee all over the floor, but managed to swallow. ‘What?! You’re out of your mind!’

  ‘Come see me down in make-up when you have time, and I’ll fix that,’ said Philip.

  ‘It can’t be fixed with make-up.’

  ‘Excuse me, but you’re talking to one of Sweden’s best make-up artists. Do you realise that you just insulted me? Big time.’ Philip grimaced at her, but even then he was cute as hell. His face was ringed by golden, curly hair. His skin looked like porcelain, and his dark eyelashes were long and curled.