Lycke

by Mikaela Bley

  ‘But I don’t understand —’

  Mona took a deep breath. ‘I couldn’t protect her from that terrible rain any longer. That girl had suffered enough. How many times do you have to hear that you’re not loved? Can you tell me that? How much should a little girl have to take? She couldn’t take any more — and soon I was going to retire. Who would take care of her then?’ She rocked back and forth in time with the words. ‘When I saw the message from Harald on Chloé’s phone, I deleted it. I knew that no one would miss it. Everyone was too occupied with their own affairs anyway. No one wanted to have anything to do with Lycke.’ She shrugged her rounded shoulders. ‘I picked her up at tennis. She was so happy when I came. You should have seen her smile when I drove into the parking lot. Chloé just left her there all alone in the rain. So I took a bottle of Chloé’s sleeping pills …’ She fell silent.

  Ellen bit her lip, afraid of the words coming from Mona.

  ‘Then there was no going back.’

  Mona cocked her head.

  ‘Do you know what it feels like when there is no longer anything you can do? There isn’t a single story that could transport her from the frightful reality she was forced to live in. Poor girl. May the light of the Lord show us the way and always let us walk in truth. That was exactly what I did. I drove around, and we ended up at Djurgården, I don’t know what made me drive there, but when I got there, I was so convinced that it was the only right thing. Then, I used a blanket …’

  Tears streamed down her plump cheeks, but she didn’t bother to wipe them away.

  ‘I was the only one who loved her. The only one who knew her. She’s better off now, I know that.’ She smiled, and there was a calmness in it. ‘I delivered her from evil.’

  ELLEN

  3.00 P.M.

  They were at Örelo by three o’clock in the afternoon.

  When the police came to the church to take Mona into custody, Ellen left to pick up her mother, who’d stayed in the city overnight. Together, they left Stockholm.

  She was done. Her phone had been ringing constantly — they wanted her to come back to work and tell them about the confession, but no. It was over now. Eventually, she turned the phone off.

  Mona was the culprit. She had murdered Lycke.

  In the car, Ellen tried to explain to her mother what had happened, but it was hard.

  ‘Mona isn’t the bad one,’ said Ellen, as she drove down the lane and up toward the castle. It was so beautiful — every time she came home, she was astonished by the views. The fields, the pastures, the forest. The well-pruned trees that lined the road, welcoming them.

  She hadn’t been home since Christmas, and then snow had covered the island. Now, everything was in full bloom.

  Just like when Elsa died.

  ‘She killed a child,’ Margareta said, as if it were that simple.

  Ellen shook her head. ‘I was at home with Mona, I sat on her couch. She put a blanket around me. Maybe I shouldn’t have called the police,’ she said. ‘It won’t bring Lycke back anyway. I can’t think badly of Mona. Maybe it was like what you told me about Vera’s birds. They were like a family. Mona was the only one who really cared.’

  Ellen’s mother placed a hand on her arm. ‘Try not to think about it any more. Not today. You caught the one who killed her — you can’t do more than that for Lycke.’

  ‘Mona grew up with a drug-addicted mother who didn’t care about her and a father who didn’t want her. The father only cared about her brothers, not her. Just like it had been for Lycke.’

  Just like it was for me.

  ‘She killed a child, Ellen. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.’

  Ellen nodded. Her mother was right.

  She drove up onto the gravel courtyard in front of the castle and parked outside the kitchen entrance. She turned off the engine, but then hesitated before getting out of the car. She observed the castle, and the buildings on the wings, and looked out over the castle yard.

  ‘It’s been twenty-five years since Elsa disappeared,’ her mother said, seeming also to not have the energy to get out of the car.

  ‘She died, Mother.’

  Ellen pounded hard on the steering wheel. ‘Death, death, death.’

  Margareta took hold of her hand. ‘Stop now, Ellen, stop.’

  They sat there in silence. After a while, her mother got out of the car, went around and opened the door on the driver’s side, and took hold of Ellen’s hand. ‘Come on now, let’s do this together.’

  Side by side, they went through the kitchen entrance.

  ‘I’ll put on some coffee,’ she said, when they’d hung up their coats.

  Ellen looked around the kitchen. Home looked the same as it always did. She sat down at the round kitchen table and looked out toward Yngaren, the lake that had taken Elsa’s life.

  The water lilies were blooming by the pier. She picked gently at her necklace.

  Margareta set the coffee cups on the table and sat down beside her. ‘I see you have the necklace on. It looks nice,’ she said.

  ‘Can we have a little wine instead?’

  ‘Ellen, that’s not the way to tackle your problems.’

  Ellen rolled her eyes. She should talk, she who had a gin and tonic every night before she went to bed. ‘I know, I was joking.’

  ‘No, you weren’t. That’s enough now. I can’t watch my other daughter disappear into that black hole. You can’t dampen your pain with wine. We have to put an end to this now.’

  ‘You can’t send me to any more therapists; it doesn’t help.’

  ‘No, I won’t. I thought we could start by us talking to each other. When I saw that awful message on your phone yesterday’ — she clutched her chest — ‘I got so scared, Ellen. I couldn’t take it if anything happened to you.’

  ‘Do you wish I had died, instead of Elsa?’ Ellen whispered.

  ‘Ellen, how could you say that? Do you really think that —’

  Ellen shrugged.

  ‘It hurts me to hear you say that. I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but I wish I could explain to you how much I love you,’ she said, squeezing her hand. ‘If you have children, you’ll understand. You go crazy when you lose a child — it never goes away.’

  ‘So what do you think it’s like to lose a sister?’

  ‘Terrible.’

  Ellen saw her eyes were filled with tears.

  ‘There’s so much we haven’t dealt with …’ Margareta fell silent. ‘Today, we’ve seen what that can do to a person — if you don’t deal with your baggage.’

  Without thinking, Ellen leaned over and gave her mother a hug. She couldn’t remember when she’d last done that. She soaked up the scent of her perfume; she’d used the same one for as long as Ellen could remember. Slowly, her body began to relax. It was a strange, but not unpleasant, feeling.

  Ellen suddenly stood up.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Margareta asked.

  ‘I’ll be back soon,’ said Ellen, heading down to the wine cellar. There, she took out one of the bottles from the shelf she was not allowed to touch. Those wines were to be saved, she had been told, for some special occasion. For which one, Ellen didn’t know — but she couldn’t imagine a better occasion than this.

  Her mother was right. Philip was right.

  At least once an hour, she thought about death. She’d done so since the day her sister’s body had been found. And during the past week, it had escalated. She was a ticking bomb — and she didn’t want to be like Mona.

  She headed back up to the kitchen again, then got out two cups, not bothering to get the crystal glasses from the dining room.

  Margareta looked at her. ‘What are you doing?’

  Ellen retrieved a corkscrew from one of the drawers.

  ‘Ellen, not that wine —’

 
With a pop, the cork was out.

  ‘But, Ellen —’ Her mother shook her head and wiped her eyes.

  Ellen sniffed the wine. The aroma couldn’t be fully appreciated in a cup, but what did that matter? She took a sip.

  ‘Shouldn’t we at least use some different glasses?’ Margareta couldn’t help but smile, though.

  Ellen shook her head and sat down beside her mother.

  ‘You’re right, I have to deal with this. But you have to, too. So we’ll do what you said — we’ll talk about it. So … Where do we start?’

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Thanks to …

  Kristofer Lind, for believing in me.

  Katja Tydén, for putting up with me.

  Denise Rudberg, for inspiring me and helping me.

  Caroline Dinkelspiel, for supporting me and being a real friend.

  Alexander Wallenius, for all the help with the details of police work.

  Per Faijersson, for all the help with the journalism details.

  Dag, for everything! Without you, I never could have written this book.

  Hermine, Lily and Douglas, for letting me be your mum.

  Mamma, for molding me and teaching me right and wrong.

  Pappa, for giving me my fighting spirit.

  Markus, for being the best support a person could have.

  Victoria, for being the world’s best little sister.

  The Family Bley and the Family Bengtson, for letting me be part of the family.

  Grandmother Ingrid, for everything you have given me.

  Grandmother Britta, for me being me. I wish you were with us today.