by Mikaela Bley
‘Do you have a family of your own?’ Ellen said, finally breaking the silence.
‘No,’ Mona said curtly. ‘It didn’t turn out that way for me.’
Ellen couldn’t help but feel sorry for her, as she did everyone who didn’t have children of their own. It didn’t matter whether it was their choice or not. Actually, she probably felt most sorry for herself.
‘Don’t look so sad, dear,’ Mona said, friendly again. ‘I’ve been surrounded by marvellous children my whole working life. They’ve been like my own.’ She smiled convincingly.
‘May I offer you a glass of sherry?’ she asked then.
‘No, thanks,’ Ellen replied. ‘I’m driving.’
‘I think I’ll have a little glass anyway. Just a little one, you sleep so well then.’
Mona looked at the clock, which was over the door to the kitchen. ‘I think it’s best if you go now.’
Ellen nodded. She neatly folded up the blanket on the edge of the couch and leaned down to change back into her socks.
‘You can keep them,’ said Mona.
Ellen smiled.
They went to the hall together, and Ellen put on her wet jacket and squeezed her feet into her shoes.
‘There’s something dark about you, I can see that,’ Mona said suddenly. ‘You know that you have to deal with that darkness. Otherwise you’re going to fall hard, and you’ll do things you shouldn’t.’
Ellen didn’t know what to say, and decided not to respond.
‘If you think of anything or just want to talk, then call me,’ she said instead, handing over her card, which she had in her jacket pocket.
Mona looked at the card and then at Ellen. ‘Do you think that time heals all wounds?’
‘No,’ said Ellen.
‘I don’t, either.’
ELLEN
9.00 P.M.
Ellen turned onto Drottningholmsvägen, and was halfway across the Traneberg bridge when the phone rang.
‘Hi, it’s Petter, you tried to reach me?’
The voice sounded familiar.
‘You know, the tennis coach. You called and left a voice message.’
‘Yes, how nice, thanks for calling back! I’d like to talk with you. Is it possible to meet now?’
‘Yes, that’ll be fine, I guess. I’m at Salk hall, in Alvik. Working here while Royal is being renovated and the outdoor courts —’
‘Perfect, I’ll come right away.’
Ellen turned around at the roundabout by Rålambshovsparken and drove back across the bridge.
A little later, she was standing watching tennis balls being hit back and forth, while she waited for Petter to arrive. The sound of it produced a kind of calm through her body.
‘Ellen?’
She turned around and was met by a tall, spindly man wearing workout clothes.
‘Hi, I’m Petter.’
‘Hi!’ Ellen extended her hand, which he shook limply. His hands were sweaty. Ellen guessed that he was about ten years younger than her.
‘Thanks for taking the time to see me. As I said, I work as a crime reporter at TV4.’
‘I know, I recognise you,’ he said, grinning.
‘I see. That’s nice,’ she said, for lack of anything else to say. She had never been able to think of a good response for when people said they recognised her from TV.
‘Is there some place we can talk undisturbed?’
‘I don’t usually work here, but I think we can go into the office,’ he said, pointing toward a door further down the corridor.
It was a typical sports office. Tennis rackets, balls, and binders spread about; gym bags stacked on top of each other, and medals and certificates hanging on the walls.
‘I don’t really understand what use this will be. As I said, I wasn’t even there,’ he said, closing the door to the office and turning the lock.
Did he just lock the door?
‘No, I know, but perhaps we can talk anyway. Where were you when Lycke disappeared?’
‘At home. You’re not from the police, are you?’ he said, laughing. ‘Yes, tennis was cancelled because of the rain. You couldn’t play on the outdoor courts and they’re renovating the indoor courts.’
Ellen nodded. ‘So you had time off work?’
‘Yes, involuntary leave you might say. I want to work because I need the money and all that. I worked here before I started at Royal, and now they need extra help. Have to see how long it lasts. Depends on the rain,’ he said, moving aside some clothes that had been lying on a stool by the wall. He sat down with his legs spread and leaned against the wall.
‘Is it okay if I sit down, too?’ she asked, sounding more cross than she had intended. This was no gentleman she was dealing with.
‘Sure,’ he said, without moving a finger to help.
There was only one other chair in the room, and it was behind the overloaded desk. She pointed inquiringly.
‘Sit where you want.’
She did as he said and went around the desk. There were holes in the brown seat cover and foam padding was poking out in several places. She took off her jacket and sat on it.
‘Is this your job?’ Ellen asked, realising immediately how bad that sounded.
‘Yes — is there anything wrong with that?’
‘No, not really. I was mostly just wondering if you have another job, too. It sounds so luxurious to get to play tennis all day long.’
‘There isn’t that much playing when you’re coaching.’ He pulled back the somewhat shaggy, mousey-brown hair from his face.
‘What do you do when the tennis is cancelled? Do you call around all the parents then, or what?’
‘Are you out of your mind!? You can’t call all the parents. I send an email.’
‘But what if someone doesn’t read their email?’
‘Not my problem. People just have to keep track of their email. And of the weather for that matter. It was pretty obvious it wasn’t possible to play outdoors.’
‘Can I see the email?’
‘Sure, I guess you can,’ he said, getting up. He came around and opened the laptop that was in front of her on the desk and leaned forward, supporting himself on one elbow. He was now so close to her that she felt compelled to move to the side.
‘Can you look away a moment? I’m just going to enter my password.’
‘Absolutely,’ Ellen said, but saw out of the corner of her eye that he was closing a bunch of windows. Facebook and some other chat page she wasn’t able to see properly. Then he opened his email and scrolled down the inbox.
‘Here it is,’ he said, straightening up.
Ellen skimmed through the message. It was short and concise. Tennis cancelled due to weather. He had sent it in the morning, at a quarter past eight.
She went through the list of who he’d sent the email to.
‘There are only women here. The mums, I assume. Don’t you ever send messages to the dads?’
‘Uh, what? No, I don’t know, I send emails to the ones I have addresses for.’
Ellen nodded, noting Helena’s name and email address were on the list.
‘Thanks,’ she said.
‘Was there anything else?’ He picked up a tennis ball from the floor before he went back and sat down on the stool.
‘Can you tell me anything about Lycke?’
‘What can I say?’ He threw the ball up and then caught it with his other hand. ‘She sucks at tennis.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Yes, she’s really bad.’ He sneered. ‘You’re not supposed to say that, but you asked. Yeah, well, in comparison with the others in the group anyway.’
‘I hope you didn’t tell her that.’ Ellen didn’t try to conceal her irritation.
Elsa had been the smarter of the two. The on
e who learned to read and add first. She started to talk several months before Ellen. She also started walking first, Ellen had often been told.
‘Yes, they’re so different. They always say that some children develop physically first, while others are mentally quicker. But with my twins, we couldn’t say that because one of them, Elsa, was first at everything.’
Ellen didn’t know how many times she’d heard her mother say that. As soon as her mother saw a baby, she felt compelled to talk about what it had been like with her twins, and how capable Elsa was at everything.
As an identical twin, you were constantly being compared. It was as if they had please compare us stamped on their foreheads. It never ended. It went on even after Elsa disappeared. Even today. It was tough to be compared with someone who was dead. Elsa was, and remained, insurmountable. Ellen felt ashamed when she thought back at how jealous she could get of her sister. Even though Elsa always tried to cheer Ellen up by listing the things that Ellen was good at. Painting, for example, or making nice pearl bracelets. Swimming.
Petter threw a ball against the wall right over her head, and she jumped.
‘It was really obvious that she didn’t like tennis.’ He continued throwing the ball.
‘So why was she taking lessons?’
‘I don’t know. Some people think it’s refined to play tennis or else they probably dream that their kid will be a pro or something. I don’t know.’
Ellen could picture that.
‘What is Lycke like as a person?’
He stopped throwing the ball. ‘To be completely honest she’s really strange,’ he said, after a short pause. ‘Really weird. Quiet. Doesn’t say a thing. Sad somehow.’ He shrugged, then started throwing the ball again.
Ellen hoped sincerely that he wasn’t quite so frank with the children.
‘Do you ever see the parents?’ she asked, feeling how stressed his throwing the tennis ball was making her. The sound was no longer calming at all.
‘Sort of. They drop off and pick up, and sometimes they stay and watch in the stands. But I rarely talk with them.’
‘What about Lycke’s parents?’
‘I don’t think I’ve even met them. I’ve probably only seen her stepmother and grandmother or whatever she is. Do you play tennis?’
‘Sometimes, but it’s been a while now.’
‘Just say if you want a private lesson.’ He smiled. ‘Are you in good shape?’
‘Excuse me?’
He was staring at her. Not at her eyes, but at her cleavage.
‘I should probably go now.’ She buttoned her jacket and went toward the door.
‘Already?’ asked Petter, who was still sitting on the stool.
‘Yes, I have to get back to Channel Four. They’re waiting there now.’
‘Too bad.’
She didn’t like his tone.
Petter got up slowly, brushing against her as he went past. He stopped in front of the door.
Was he not going to let her out? Ellen tried to reassure herself that it was pure imagination, and there was nothing strange about the situation.
The room began to feel smaller and smaller.
Then he turned the lock and stood aside, holding open the door, and Ellen hurried out.
As she drove past Rålambshovsparken, she couldn’t stop thinking how the bag had been found so close to the Salk tennis hall. Nor could she let go of the nagging thought that Lycke’s mother had most likely known that the tennis had been cancelled.
ELLEN
10.00 P.M.
Ellen took the last apple from the fruit bowl on the reception counter and forced herself to take a bite. She needed a little energy.
‘Are you the only one here?’ she asked Agatha, who was working at her desk.
‘Yes,’ Agatha answered without looking up. ‘Isn’t that enough?’
‘Yes, absolutely. I didn’t mean it that way,’ said Ellen, looking away toward Jimmy’s desk, which was vacant.
She couldn’t help but wonder what Agatha had seen when she compiled the material Ellen had asked for. Had she seen ‘The Elsa Case’ and made the connection that it was Ellen’s sister? But then she would have had to examine it carefully. Ellen had changed her name. Actually, it probably wasn’t that hard for someone to find out about her past, but they would have to know what they were searching for to get any hits to come up in the media archive. She’d made sure of that. She changed her surname the day her father moved out on them. From von Blaten to her mother’s maiden name, Tamm.
And why would Agatha send a picture of Ellen’s dead sister to her in the middle of the night? Why would anyone do such a thing?
‘I’m going to see Andreas in the editing room,’ she said, as if Agatha would care where she was.
They needed to finalise what they’d recorded during the day in case nothing new came in during the night.
‘I don’t understand, why haven’t they found her?’ Ellen said when she sat down on the chair beside Andreas. ‘What are they doing wrong? What are we missing?’
‘Nothing, you’re doing more than enough. And it looks like you need to sleep. Go home. I’ll take care of this.’
Ellen shook her head. ‘I’m staying.’ The last thing she wanted to do was go home. She wished she could talk with Andreas, but at the same time it was nice that he didn’t know.
‘Increased security at the schools in Stockholm. We’ll have to use that as the morning angle if nothing happens during the night.’
Andreas started the editing program and loaded up more of the day’s work.
On the screens, pictures of the girls from Lycke’s school fluttered past. They clowned with the camera, pretending that they were on a catwalk or something. They looked into the camera, threw air kisses, and ran past.
‘Wait, I want to see this,’ said Ellen.
Andreas stopped fast-forwarding and let the sequence run.
‘Do you work on TV?’ asked one of the girls.
‘Yes,’ answered Ellen.
The girls squirmed and started giggling.
‘Is that your car?’
‘Yes,’ Ellen answered again. Luckily, she wasn’t visible in the picture.
‘Neat.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I want to have a pink car, too, when I grow up,’ said the other girl.
‘I want to work on TV.’
‘Do you have a boyfriend?’
‘No, unfortunately.’
‘Why not?’
‘Damn, they’re nosey,’ said Andreas.
‘Are you in love with anyone?’
The lens was covered with raindrops, and the film showed Andreas wiping it off. The girl looked self-consciously down at the ground and started giggling.
‘Shouldn’t you all go in now so you don’t get wet in the rain?’
‘No, I like it when it rains,’ one of them said.
The other girl hit her on the arm and they laughed. Their clothes looked like miniature versions of adult fashion.
‘My dad thinks you’re good-looking.’
‘I see. Okay,’ said Ellen. ‘Are you friends with Lycke?’
The one girl whispered something to the other.
‘No.’
‘She’s gone.’
‘I’m in the same grade as Lycke.’
They were all talking at the same time.
‘She ran away.’
‘Why do you think she ran away?’
They shrugged.
‘Maybe she’s dead.’ They looked at each other and started giggling.
‘Check this out,’ one of them said, holding up a stuffed animal that looked like a colourful parrot. She pressed its belly and it started to talk. ‘You’re okay, but I’m the BEST!’
‘Can it be one of them,
do you think?’ Ellen asked Andreas.
‘Sheesh, knock it off. Don’t say that. What do you mean anyway? That they could have kidnapped Lycke?’ He shook his head as if it was the most irrational thing he’d ever heard.
‘They weren’t nice. And children can do awful things.’
The camera moved and Ellen’s face was shown on the screen.
‘Stop, please,’ she asked Andreas, looking away.
Andreas sighed. ‘I don’t understand. When are you going to get used to being seen on TV?’ he said, running his hands over his shaved head.
Ellen took a few deep breaths.
All she saw was death. Every time she saw herself on screen, it was the same thing. The same thing in the mirror. It was Elsa she saw. As if she was really alive. In the marvellous little second before reality caught up with her.
Ellen studied herself on screen, standing with the big red mike, about to talk into the camera. How would Elsa have looked if she were alive? Would they still have been identical? She realised that it must be hard for their mother to look at Ellen, a frightful reminder that her other daughter was no longer alive.
When they were little, their clothes set them apart. Elsa got pink and Ellen yellow. She hated yellow. Yellow was ugly. Even today, her mother reacted if Ellen wore something pink. When Ellen bought her car, it had been to provoke her mother. Or honour her sister. She hardly knew which herself; it wasn’t possible to keep the concepts separate. Pink mist.
‘May I be alone for a bit?’ she asked Andreas.
‘Sure, I’ll go get coffee. Want some?’
She shook her head. ‘Thanks anyway.’
The loss and the guilt still held her in a tight grip. Yet it had been more than twenty years since Elsa disappeared. Died. But you could only say that she disappeared. You didn’t mention death. That’s just how it was.
There was a brief knock on the door, and Agatha came in.
‘You might as well take your phone with you when you leave. It’s hard to work when it’s ringing every five minutes.’ She held out the phone.
Ellen took the phone from her. ‘Sorry,’ she murmured, seeing that she’d missed five calls. All from anonymous numbers. No messages.