CAMILLA LACKBERG
The Lost Boy
Translated from the Swedish by Tiina Nunnally
For Charlie
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Fjällbacka 1870
Chapter 2
Fjällbacka 1870
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Fjällbacka 1870
Chapter 6
Fjällbacka 1870
Chapter 7
Fjällbacka 1870
Chapter 8
Fjällbacka 1871
Chapter 9
Fjällbacka 1871
Chapter 10
Fjällbacka 1871
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Fjällbacka 1871
Chapter 13
Fjällbacka 1871
Chapter 14
Fjällbacka 1871
Chapter 15
Fjällbacka 1871
Chapter 16
Fjällbacka 1871
Chapter 17
Fjällbacka 1871
Chapter 18
Fjällbacka 1871
Chapter 19
Fjällbacka 1873
Chapter 20
Fjällbacka 1875
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Fjällbacka 1875
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Camilla Lackberg
By the same author
Copyright
About the Publisher
1
It was only when she placed her hands on the steering wheel that she saw they were bloody. Her palms felt sticky against the leather. But she ignored the blood as she shifted into reverse and a bit too hastily backed out of the driveway. She heard the gravel spray out from under the tyres.
They had a long drive ahead of them. She cast a glance at the back seat. Sam was asleep, wrapped up in a blanket. He really ought to be strapped in with a seat belt, but she didn’t have the heart to wake him. She would just have to drive as carefully as possible. Immediately she let up on the accelerator.
The summer night had already started to brighten. At this time of year the hours of darkness were practically over before they even began. And yet this night seemed endless. Everything had changed. Fredrik’s brown eyes had stared rigidly up at the ceiling, and she realized that there was nothing she could do. She had to save herself and Sam. She couldn’t think about the blood. She couldn’t think about Fredrik.
There was only one place she could go.
Six hours later, they reached their destination. Fjällbacka was just starting to wake up. She parked the car near the Coast Guard building, taking a moment to work out how she could manage to carry everything. Sam was still sound asleep. She took out a package of tissues from the glove compartment and wiped her hands as best she could. It was hard to get all the blood off. Then she took the suitcases out of the boot of the car and quickly dragged them over to Badholmen, the island with the diving platform, where the boat was docked. She was worried that Sam might wake up, but she had locked the car so he wouldn’t be able to get out and tumble into the water. With an effort she stowed the luggage on board the boat and unlocked the chain, which was meant to keep the vessel from being stolen. Then she ran back to the car, relieved to see that Sam was sleeping as calmly as when she’d left him. Picking him up, she carried him, still wrapped in the blanket, over to the boat. She kept her eyes fixed on her feet as she stepped on board so she wouldn’t slip. Carefully she placed Sam on the deck and then turned the key in the ignition. The motor coughed but started up on the first try. Though she hadn’t driven a motorboat in a long time, she was certain she could manage. She backed out of the mooring berth and then headed out of the harbour.
The sun was shining but hadn’t yet had time to warm the air. She felt the tension slowly seeping away, and the horror of the night lost some of its grip on her. As she looked at Sam she wondered if what had happened would scar him for life. A five-year-old was fragile. Who knew what might have been destroyed inside him? She would do everything in her power to make him whole again. She would take away the evil with a kiss, just as she did when he fell off his bike and scraped his knee.
The route across the water was a familiar one. She knew every island, every skerry. She steered towards Väderöbad, heading further and further out along the coast. The waves were getting bigger, and the hull of the boat slammed against the surface after each swell. She enjoyed the feeling of the salty spray on her face, allowing herself to close her eyes for a few seconds. When she opened them again, she could see Gråskär in the distance. Her heart leaped. That always happened when the island came into view and she saw the small cottage and the lighthouse rising up white and proud against the blue sky. She was still too far off to see the colour of the cottage, but in her mind she pictured the light grey of the façade with the white trim. She also thought about the pink hollyhocks that grew along the wall, most sheltered from the wind. This was her refuge, her paradise. Her island called Gråskär.
Every single pew in Fjäallbacka church was taken, and the chancel was overflowing with flowers. Wreaths, bouquets, and beautiful silk ribbons inscribed with words of farewell.
Patrik could hardly make himself look at the white coffin that stood in the midst of the sea of flowers. It was eerily quiet inside the large stone church. At the funerals for old people, a hum of voices was almost always audible. Comments were exchanged, such as ‘she was in so much pain that it was a blessing’ and the like. And everyone looked forward to the coffee served afterwards in the church. Today those sorts of conversations were absent. Everyone sat in silence with heavy hearts and an unexpressed feeling of injustice. This should not have happened.
Patrik cleared his throat and glanced up at the ceiling, trying to blink away his tears. He squeezed Erica’s hand. His suit was scratchy and itchy, and he tugged at his shirt collar to get more air. He felt as though he was suffocating.
The bells in the tower began to chime, the sound echoing between the walls. Many of those present in the church gave a start and glanced towards the coffin. Pastor Lena came out from the sacristy and walked over to the altar. It was Lena who had married them in this very church. That seemed like another time, another reality. Back then the mood had been elated, joyful, and bright. Now the pastor looked sombre. Patrik tried to interpret her expression. Was she too thinking that this was all wrong? Or was she secure in her conviction that there was some meaning behind what had happened?
The tears welled up again, and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. Erica discreetly slipped him a handkerchief. The last chords of the organ faded away, followed by a few seconds of silence before Lena began to speak. Her voice quavered slightly, but then grew steadier.
‘Life can change in an instant. But God is with us. Today as always.’
Patrik saw her lips moving, but he soon stopped listening. He didn’t want to hear what she said. The tenuous religious faith that had followed him through life ever since he was a child had now departed for good. There was no meaning to be found in what had happened. Again he squeezed Erica’s hand.
‘I can proudly report that we’re right on schedule. In a little over two weeks the Badhotel will be splendidly reopened in Fjällbacka.’
Erling W. Larson beamed as he looked from one board member to the next, as if expecting applause. He had to settle for a number of approving nods.
‘This is a real triumph for the region,’ he clarified. ‘A complete renovation of something that we might well consider a priceless historic icon. At
the same time we can now offer people a modern and competitive wellness centre. Or spa, which is perhaps a better word for it.’ He sketched quotation marks in the air around the word ‘spa’, which was foreign to many Swedes. ‘All that remains is to take care of the finishing touches, invite several companies to try out the services in advance, and of course make preparations for the grand opening celebration.’
‘That sounds great. I just have a few questions.’ Mats Sverin, who had assumed the position of town finance officer a couple of months back, waved his pen to attract Erling’s attention.
Erling, who detested anything to do with administrative work and financial reports, pretended not to notice. Hastily declaring the meeting adjourned, he withdrew to his spacious office.
After the fiasco of the Sodding Tanum reality show, no one had expected Erling to recover, yet here he was promoting an even bigger project which was on the brink of success. Personally, he’d never had any doubts, not even when the negative criticism had been at its worst. He was a born winner.
Of course it had taken a toll on him, which was why he had gone to the Ljuset wellness centre in the Dalecarlian region of Sweden to recuperate. That had been a fortuitous turn of events, because if he hadn’t gone there, he never would have met Vivianne. Meeting her had heralded a turning point for him, both professionally and personally. She had won him over as no other woman had ever done before, and it was her vision that he was now turning into reality.
He couldn’t resist the temptation to pick up the phone and call her. It was the fourth time he’d done so today, but the sound of her voice always made him tingle all over. He held his breath as he listened to the ringtone.
‘Hi, darling,’ he said when she answered. ‘I just wanted to hear how you’re doing.’
‘Erling,’ she said, using that special tone of voice that made him feel like a lovesick schoolboy, ‘I’m as fine as I was when you called an hour ago.’
‘Good,’ he said, grinning sheepishly. ‘I wanted to make sure everything was all right.’
‘I know that, and I love you for it. But we still have so much to do before the opening, and you don’t want me to have to work evenings, do you?’
‘Absolutely not, my darling.’
He resolved not to call and disturb her any more. Their evenings were sacred.
‘Okay. Get back to work, and I’ll do the same.’ He made a few kissing noises into the receiver before he replaced the receiver. Then he leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands behind his head, and allowed himself a few minutes to daydream about the impending delights of the evening.
It smelled stuffy inside the cottage. Nathalie opened all the doors and windows to let the brisk wind blow through the rooms. A vase was nearly knocked over by the draught, but she grabbed it at the last second.
Sam lay in the small room next to the kitchen. They had always called it the guest room, even though it had been her bedroom when she was a child. Her parents had slept upstairs. She looked in on him, tucking a shawl around his shoulders. Then she took down the big, rusty key that always hung on a nail just inside the front door and went out on to the rocks. The wind cut through her clothes as she stood there, her back to the house, gazing towards the horizon. The only other building on the island was the lighthouse. The little boathouse down by the dock was so small that it didn’t really count.
She walked over to the lighthouse. Gunnar must have oiled the lock, because the key turned with surprising ease. The door creaked as she pulled it open. Nathalie only had to take a few steps inside before starting up the narrow, steep stairs, holding on to the railing as she climbed.
The view was so beautiful that it left her breathless. It had always had that effect on her. In one direction all she saw was the sea and the distant horizon; in the other direction the archipelago spread out below her, with all the islands, rocks, and skerries. It had been years since the lighthouse was in use. Nowadays it stood as a monument to bygone times. The lamp had been extinguished, and the metal plates and bolts were slowly rusting away from exposure to saltwater and wind. As a child she had loved playing up here. It was so small, like a playroom elevated high above the ground. The only furniture that would fit into the confined space was a bed where the lighthouse keepers could rest during their long shifts, and a chair where they could sit and peer out across the waters.
She lay down on the bed. A musty smell rose up from the bedspread, but the sounds all around her were the same as when she was a child: the shrieking of the gulls, the waves crashing against the rocks, and the groaning sound of the lighthouse itself. Everything had been so simple back then. Her parents had been concerned that she would be bored on the island, since she had no siblings. They needn’t have worried. She loved being here. And she had not been alone. But that was something that she couldn’t have explained to them.
Mats Sverin sighed and shuffled the papers piled on the desk in front of him. Today was one of those days when he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Couldn’t stop wondering. On such days, he got very little done, but they happened less frequently now. He had begun to let go; at least he wanted to think so. He could still see her face so clearly in his mind, and in a sense he was grateful for that. At the same time, he wished the image would start to blur and fade.
He tried to refocus his attention on his work. On good days he quite enjoyed his job. It was a challenge to immerse himself in the town finances, with the constant need to find a balance between political considerations and what was reasonable in terms of the marketplace. During the months that he’d worked here so far, much of his time had naturally been spent on Project Badis. He was pleased that the old hotel building was finally being restored. Like the majority of Fjällbacka residents, both those who still lived in the area and those who had moved away, every time he passed the beautiful structure he had bemoaned the fact that it had been allowed to fall into disrepair. Now it had been returned to its former grandeur.
Mats hoped that Erling’s bombastic promises about the tremendous success this enterprise would enjoy were more than hot air, but he was sceptical. The project had already run up huge expenses for the restoration itself, and the proposed business plan was based on calculations that were far too optimistic. He had tried on a number of occasions to present his view of the situation, without success. And though he had gone over the figures time and time again without finding anything amiss – aside from the massive expenses accrued – nevertheless he had an uneasy feeling that something wasn’t quite right.
He glanced at his watch and saw that it was lunchtime. It had been ages since he’d had any real appetite, but he knew that he needed to eat. Today was Thursday, which meant pancakes and pea soup at the Källaren restaurant. He should be able to get a few bites down, at the very least.
Only the closest friends and family members were to be present at the actual burial. The others silently disappeared in the opposite direction, headed towards town. Erica held on tightly to Patrik’s hand. They walked behind the coffin, and it felt as if every step sent a stab of pain into her heart. She had tried to persuade Anna not to put herself through this ordeal, but her sister had insisted on having a proper funeral. Her desire to see it done right had temporarily roused her from her apathetic state, so Erica had given up trying to convince Anna to change her mind. Instead, she had helped make all the necessary arrangements so that Anna and Dan could bury their son.
On one issue she had refused to relent, however. Anna wanted all the children to attend the funeral, but Erica decided that the youngest should stay at home. Only the two oldest, Dan’s daughters Belinda and Malin, were present. Patrik’s mother Kristina was babysitting for Lisen, Adrian, Emma, and Maja. And the twins, of course. Erica had been a little concerned that this might prove too much for her mother-in-law, but Kristina had calmly assured her that she would have no problem keeping the youngsters under control for the two hours that the funeral would last.
Erica’s heart ached when she looked at Anna�
��s almost bald head in front of her. The doctors had been forced to shave off nearly all her hair in order to bore through her skull to relieve the pressure that had built up and might cause permanent brain damage if not dealt with at once. A downy layer of hair had started to grow back, but it was a darker colour than before.
Unlike Anna and the driver of the other car, who had died immediately after the accident, Erica had come through with miraculously minor injuries. She had suffered only a bad concussion and several broken ribs. The twins were a bit underweight when they were born by emergency caesarean, but they were strong and healthy and after two months they were allowed to go home from the hospital.
Erica almost burst into tears when she shifted her gaze from her sister’s downy head to the tiny white coffin. Anna had not only incurred serious head injuries, she had also broken her pelvis. An emergency caesarean had been performed on her, too, but the injuries to the child were so extensive that the doctors gave Anna and Dan little hope. Only a week old, the baby boy had breathed his last.
The funeral had been delayed because Anna was unable to leave the hospital. Only yesterday had she finally been allowed to go home. And today they were burying her son, who would have had a life filled with so much love. Erica saw Dan place his hand on Anna’s shoulder as he carefully parked her wheelchair next to the graveside. Anna shook off his hand. That was how she had reacted ever since the accident. It was as if her pain was so great that she couldn’t share it with anyone else. Dan, on the other hand, needed to share what he was feeling, but not with just anybody. Both Patrik and Erica had tried to talk to him, and all of his friends had done what they could. But he didn’t want to share his grief with anyone except Anna. And she was unable to respond.
Erica found Anna’s reaction perfectly understandable. She knew her sister so well, and was fully aware of everything that she’d already been through. Life had not been kind to Anna, and this threatened to be the event that would finally prove too much for her. For all that Erica understood, she couldn’t help wishing it wasn’t so. Anna needed Dan more than ever, and Dan needed Anna. Now they stood there, side by side, like two strangers as the little coffin was slowly lowered into the ground.
Patrick Hedstrom 07: The Lost Boy Page 1