Title

Shadows of Sören

A Crime Novel

_______________

by Nicola Stöhr

Copyright

Shadows of Sören

by Nicola Stöhr

published by: epubli GmbH, Berlin, www.epubli.de

Copyright: © 2013 Nicola Stöhr

ISBN 978-3-8442-4056-6

Content

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Chapter 85

Chapter 86

Chapter 87

Chapter 88

Chapter 89

Chapter 90

Chapter 91

Chapter 92

Chapter 93

Chapter 94

Chapter 95

Chapter 96

Chapter 97

Chapter 98

Chapter 99

Chapter 100

Chapter 101

Chapter 102

Chapter 103

Chapter 104

Chapter 105

Chapter 106

Chapter 107

Chapter 108

Chapter 109

Chapter 110

Chapter 111

”Tell me now:

is there a difference

Between a shark

And the ghost of a shark

´cause all I have are secrets

And memories of the dark …”

Tom Mcrae

“Ghost of a Shark”

From “Just like blood”

Chapter 1

Clarice entered his peripheral vision from the left. She must have come from the ostrich enclosure behind the house. She loved the ostriches and often spent her time just standing and looking at them.

Sören was standing at his bedroom window overlooking the front of Rettinge Gård and watched Clarice enter her house. The little house which she rented from him. It was one of the two former servant quarters situated a couple of metres in front of the main house, to the left and right of it. Between them ran a long alley leading away from the big house to the main road.

This was the basic setup for what classified a typical Herrgård in Sweden. A Herrgård was the original name for a big country house inhabited by an aristocrat. That would be him, Sören Hellström. Except that in any other country, the country house would have been a little grander and bigger than this one. But this was Sweden after all. The land of modesty, equal opportunities and good fortunes for everyone. Even the Royal family´s summer residence in Borgholm on Öland was only a third of Balmoral or Windsor Castle, or wherever it was the English Royals spent their holidays. His gård was at home on Öland, the little island which was situated just of the east coast of Sweden. Sören had grown up there in the village of Vickleby. Vickleby was an old, picturesque village which stood right at the edge of the Stora Alvaret, that limestone barren plain on the south of the island. The plain distinguished itself through a sparse vegetation of low shrubs interfused with limestone rocks.

Basically Vickleby consisted of one long, well kept street which ran through the middle of the village and was in itself a sight for those looking for genuinely old, idyllic structures. Although in many ways it resembled an old English country village. The houses were often hidden behind rough stonewalls and overgrown with ivy or wild wine. Almost every house had a row of stockroses planted in a straight, narrow line in front of it, in pink or red or dark blue. It was an almost uniform look which nearly every household seemed to conform to. The houses without the stockroses looked almost forlorn and naked. The village regularly won the vote as Öland´s most beautiful village.

Rettinge Gård, like all gårds, stood a little apart from the village and was well set back from the main road. The local council had however some time ago set up a huge sign by the main road pointing the way to Rettinge as one of the local sights of interest. Sören had at the time not really fathomed the point of this sign, since it lead every Tom, Dick and Harriet to his house, touring his grounds like the gård was some kind of amusement park.

The sign had also led Clarice to Rettinge and to his doorstep. She had shown up out of the blue one day, knocked on Sören´s door and asked about the house which was for rent. She had probably read the ad his estate manager had placed in the local paper. Sören had been too stunned by the sheer look of her to give her a straight answer or even form a coherent sentence. Her hair looked like it was on fire. He had really never seen such a shade of red before and she had the greenest eyes.

Strangers didn´t usually approach him directly about anything. For reasons Sören could not really fathom, a lot of people were intimidated by him. Clarice had not been intimidated nor particularly impressed by any of those attributes. Their conversation had been unusually personal and somewhat acrimonious for two people who had never met before. He recalled every word of it, as it was basically the pattern for almost every conversation they had had since then. Without any preamble or any sort of introduction she had immediately entered into question mode.

“Are you the landlord and the owner of that little house over there?”

It had taken him a while to gather his wits and she had just stood there with an expectant and somewhat impatient look on her face. “I am”, he had finally answered.

“And is it for rent?” she had enquired.

“It is.”

“Well can I rent it?”

“It´s not a summer house you know. I´m looking for a long term tenant.”

 “Good, perfect.” She had nodded and had looked pleased.

Sören had been a little irked. “Really? Well we´ll see. Who are you, where are you from and why do you want to live in Vickleby of all places?” he had asked and felt some of his self-confidence return.

“What do you mean Vickleby of all places? You live here, don´t you?”

“I was born here, I grew up here.”

“Well that doesn´t mean you have to stay here, if you don´t like it.”

“It doesn´t mean I have to rent a house to you either and I didn´t say I didn´t like it here.”

“Then why shouldn´t I like it?”, Clarice had asked obstinately.

“I don´t know why you shouldn´t like it here, because I don´t know you from Adam. I´ve never met you before and I don´t know who you are, because you have as yet failed to introduce yourself to me!” At that point Sören had taken a deep breath.

“So when you said “Vickleby of all places” that was just a manner of speech? Well how should I know that, I don´t know you either. You know you should really restrain yourself from using idiosyncratic speech patterns like that when addressing perfect strangers.”

Sören had been completely flummoxed. Was he really having this conversation with a woman he had never met before on his doorstep? Or had he maybe had one Single Malt too many the night before? But a small childish part of him was actually enjoying the dialogue, plus the young woman was really stunning to look at. But stunning or not an introduction was definetely called for here.

“Your name, please, if I may?”, Sören had asked rather sternly.

She had conceded, “My name is Clarice Carter. I am a theoretical physicist and currently employed by the university of Kalmar.”

He had noticed that she hadn´t mentioned where she was from and something had kept him from asking again. And what the hell was a theoretical physicist? After almost nine months he still didn´t know where she was born, but she had an American accent, maybe Canadian, he couldn´t tell the difference. So his best guess was that she had been born somewhere in North America.

“Currently employed?” he had enquired. “This is a limited contract? I told you I want a long term tenant.”

“That was just a manner of speech! I meant employed full stop.”

“Okay, look”, Sören had said judiciously, “I actually have an estate manager who deals with rent and tenants and all that and as far as I know he already has a couple of prospective tenants who are coming to look at the place on Saturday. You may feel free to join them.”

“Ok, now you look, I don´t have time till Saturday, it´s too long. I need something right now.”

Sören had stopped short. “Why? Don´t tell me you´re living on the street. Are you homeless or something?”

Clarice had smiled in spite of his harsh tone of voice, “I almost wish. No, I am right now living in a student dormitory, since the university has failed to provide more adequate living arrangements for me and these Swedish students are driving me nuts. They disturb my sleep, they disturb my work and if there were another important aspect to my life, I´m sure they would be disturbing that too. I have to get out of there and soon. I need peace and tranquility. I have no time to waste. So can I rent the place or not?”

“Don´t you want to look at it first?” Sören had asked.

“I´m not fussy and it looks fine from here.”

“So you´re a bit of a strange one, aren´t you?”

“I´m actually the most boring person in the world. I have no husband, boyfriend, kids or social life to mention. All I do is eat, sleep and work. If that´s strange, then yes, I´m strange, but not serial killer strange, just boring strange.”

Sören had considered her answer.

“If you work in Kalmar, wouldn´t you want to live closer to the university? Like in Kalmar for example?”he had asked sarcastically.

“No.”

“What´s wrong with Kalmar?”

“Nothing, I just don´t want to live there. I like the idea of living on an island.”

Sören could relate to that. “I´ll need a proof of salary and a downpayment of two months rent in advance.”

“Fine, no problem”.

“Fine. After that feel free to move in whenever you want.”

And that had been that. She had moved in two days later with a suitcase and a laptop. No boxes and not a single item of furniture. The house was furnished anyway, but most people usually brought a few personal items like pictures, commodes, side tables or books. Clarice brought nothing but herself, a laptop, a scuffed, beige coloured suitcase and her dark red New Beetle convertible. He had not learned any more about her past. Not for lack of asking on his part but for lack of forthcoming information from her. He had stopped asking, because he understood that she really, really didn´t want to talk about her past. Instead he tried to find out more about her by watching her and listening astutely to everything she said. He was mentally compiling a “things I know about Clarice” list. After almost nine months it was still pretty empty. She knew about wine. He had once opened a bottle of one of his better wines from his cellar, a 2003 Sancerre which was only compatible with a vintage white burgundy or the quality Blanc Fumés of the world. She had expressed her surprise and commented favourably on it, showing an impressive knowledge about aroma, taste, regions and vintages. He mentally added “Clarice knows about wine” to his list. His estate manager Magnus had not been happy about being sidelined by Sören on the matter of finding a new tenant for the house. He had indeed already made arrangements for a viewing of the premises with several people, which he had then be forced to cancel at rather short notice. But it was nothing that a good bottle of wine from Sören´s graciously stocked wine cellar could not quickly mend. A bottle of booze could do wonders in Sweden. Sören had often wondered himself why he had so quickly agreed to letting the house to Clarice. Even though he was Swedish, he could be impulsive and drawn to making spontaneous decisions if his mood called for it, but renting a house to a person he had only known for a few minutes had been more than impulsive and spontaneuous. Clarice had simply overwhelmed him and he remained overwhelmed. Did Clarice entering his life indicate a turning point in his comfortable and stable existence?

Chapter 2

What was he doing here standing at his bedroom window reminiscing about Clarice and their very recent past together?  He had an important meeting with a new client to attend to that morning. He owned one of the biggest consulting and accounting firms in Sweden, based in Kalmar. His company provided tax and specialist advice to businesses and their owners. And he had a personal meeting with a client who wanted to expand her ecological clothing business to Kalmar. He looked at his watch. It was earlier than he thought and he still had a good hour before he had to leave for the meeting. Then he remembered that Clarice had asked him whether he had a manual for the heat pump which Sören had installed in her house. He had found the manual the day before and then forgot about it. But Clarice was home now and he conveniently had an hour to spare before leaving for the office. So he could go over and give her the manual now. No harm in that was there? She had asked for the instruction booklet, though Sören was unsure as to why she wanted it. Those heat pumps were sensitive pieces of advanced technology and they usually readjusted themselves according to the outside temperature. He hoped she wouldn´t start fiddling around with it and mess up the whole system. Although she semed to have some competence regarding technical equipment. Tilda, the young woman who rented the second of the smaller houses across the driveway from Clarice, had told him that Clarice had connected and installed Tilda´s new television set plus the receiver and the satellite dish two weeks ago, when the TV man had not shown up as promised. And everything worked like a dream. So it would probably be alright.

Sören walked over the twenty metres or so to Clarice´s house holding the instruction manual. He waved it in her face when she opened the door.

“I found the manual which you asked for.”

Clarice seemed happy about that, “Hey that´s great. I´ll read through it tonight.”

“Are you sure your nervous system can take that much excitement? You might have trouble falling asleep tonight.”

She laughed.

“Is there a problem with the heating system?”Sören inquired.

 “No, not yet, but I heard that they sometimes don´t adjust too well once the temperature drops to five below.  So I´d like to be prepared. Because I hate being cold.”

“Doesn´t everyone?” Sören wondered.

“Yeah, I guess. I´ve just made a pot of coffee. Would you like some?”

“With pleasure.”

“Well then come on in.”

Sören did so promptly. He followed her from the tiny hall to the living room. The “stugan”, really a summer house according to modern standards, had only four rooms and that included the bathroom. The kitchen and living room were open and merged into each other and then there was one bedroom and a tiny laundry room. Sören looked around while Clarice poured his coffee and rooted around in her kitchen cabinets for some biscuits. She hadn´t changed anything about the interior design of the house. Sören had furnished the houses with leftovers from the main house when he had taken it over eight years ago. So most of the furniture was antique. His parents hadn´t much appreciated modern design and furnishings. Sören had a combined mix of both in his house now. The first thing he had thrown out were the horrid pictures depicting hunting scenes, which had adorned the walls of his father´s library. He had hung them in the house which Clarice now occupied. She had even left those hanging. She didn´t seem to care. Strange really, he thought, because she did like pretty trendy clothes and she also drove a spiffy little new beetle convertible in a darker reddish colour with white leather seats. Not exactly the most inconspicuous car he had ever seen. He sensed that there was a story behind this car, but he was reluctant to ask, since she hated being questioned about anything even vaguely connected to her past. Sören did however notice that she had acquired a load of very expensive cooking ware. A mass of stainless steel and copper pots and pans in different shapes and sizes and electrical gadgets in a simple but expensive looking design adorned her kitchen counters and shelves. The shelves in the kitchen were also overflowing with high quality olive oil, vinegars, spices and herbs. Many of the latter obviously bought at Sören´s own herb boutique on the gård.

The hoardes of tourists which flocked to Vickleby and inevitably to his gård in the summer had hugely annoyed Sören in the beginning and then it had occurred to him that he could actually work this influx of summer visitors to his advantage and he had set up a retail establishment, namely the herb boutique, right at the entrance of the gård. It had worked like a dream right from the start. So he had gladly settled his dispute with the members of the village council, of which he was also a member, about the sign leading to Rettinge.

So Clarice liked to cook Sören mentally added to his list. Then why the hell hadn´t she yet invited him over to dinner? The cooking ware and her assortment of oils and other ingredients obviously indicated that she cooked on a somewhat elaborate level. Weren´t those artichokes in that hanging basket? To cook only for yourself was in Sören´s opinion boring and depressing, but that was what she apparently did, since Sören hadn´t noticed any guests coming or going from her house since Clarice had lived there.

He looked at her when she sat down across from him and asked “So how are my ostriches today?”

“Well, I didn´t ask them for a health certificate or anything, but they seem happy enough to me.”

“Oh good. Happy birds make for happy meat.”

Clarice winced and then tried to compose herself quickly before Sören noticed. But he had caught the movement. He smiled at her tenderly, “Clarice”, he said carefully, “You do know that I sell their meat? You didn´t think I kept them as pets, did you?”

“No,” she said quickly, “Of course not. I knew that. I just don´t like to think about it.”

Following her natural curiosity she was going to ask how they were slaughtered, but then changed her mind. She didn´t really want to know. Instead she asked, “What gave you the idea to breed ostriches in the first place?”

“I read an article a couple of years ago in an agricultural magazine. It sounded like a profitable and interesting venture, an investement that didn´t carry a great risk. But if I had known about the strict quaranteen laws I would have reconsidered.”

“But weren´t you working in London as a hedge fund manager a couple of years ago? Or was that much earlier? When did you actually leave Öland ? And you didn´t come back for the sole purpose of breeding ostriches, did you?”

Sören smiled, “So many questions. Let´s see. After I finished school all I wanted to do was get away from Öland. This is not an uncommon phenomenon. Most young people who grow up here on the island want to get away for at least a while. So I chose to study economics and management in Oxford. My mother was still alive and well at that time and my parents were still able to afford an Oxford education for their only child. So I graduated with a master in economics and management and moved to London and worked for one of the biggest banks as a hedge fund manager.”

“Did you like it? London and your job?”

“I loved it. The noise, the people hurrying all the time, the theater, parks, nightclubs, museums, shops. Everything. It was exhilarating. And I loved my stressful job at the bank and the after hour drinks and happy banter with my colleagues.”

“Did the job involve a lot of risk taking?” Clarice asked. She was genuinely interested.

“Yes, of course. Hedge-fund-managing is a high risk, high-return trading game. And it lures plenty of dreamers, believe you me. Everyone is aware of the galling sums of money hedge-fund managers can pull in. Here´s a popular joke about hedge-fund managers: What´s the difference between a hedge-fund manager and a dove? One sits in a hole and shits on people, the other is a bird.”

Clarice could feel that he had inwardly finished with that part of his life.

I was no dreamer, though,” Sören continued “I made money in my sleep and got out while I was still making money.”

“Why? Why did you get and out and move back here? Not that I blame you. This place is beautiful but since you loved London so much and everything?”

Sören squirmed a little in his chair. “I became a little discontent. I hardly noticed in the beginning, but then this feeling  persisted. And then one morning I woke up to find myself homesick. Which I had wanted to avoid under all circumstances but I couldn´t ignore it anymore.  I just wanted to go home. I missed the tranquility of Öland. I missed the slow stressless feeling of it and the flatness of the landscape and the view over the Kalmarsund. And I missed Vickleby. And I missed my people. The people here who sometimes take whole minutes to finish a sentence and don´t even know how to spell words like “stress” and “hurry”.”

Clarice smiled at him warmly, “And yet they mysteriously manage to get things done in their own unhurried, slow but efficient way. At least that´s what I´ve noticed, since I´ve been living here.”

“Precisely”, he smiled back.

“So how long were you in England then?”

“About eight years.”

“ Really, that long? I wondered why you speak English with a British accent.”

Sören laughed, “Yes, it did rub off on me.”

“I´ve noticed that most Swedish people speak English with an American accent.”

Sören nodded, “That´s because of all those American programmes on  television, of course.”

“What did you mean when you said your parents were still able to afford a good education for you then? Did they lose all their money later?”

“More or less, yeah.” .Sören looked down at the table and didn´t say anything for a little while.

Then he continued“My father was a drunk and a gambler. But my mother had always had a firm grip on his drinking and gambling excesses, but then she got sick. She had breast cancer and she got too sick to manage the affairs of the gård. So my father drank and gambled a lot of it away. When I came back eight years ago, I was appalled by the state of neglect and dilapidation Rettinge had fallen into. My mother died soon after and I tried to keep a firm grip on my father. It was hard though. Then he died about a year after my mother.”

“And then you set about getting the place back into shape? And you started your business in Kalmar?”

Sören looked up, “Yes that´s right. I worked myself to the bone, putting in fifteen to sixteen hour workdays. I established the company in Kalmar and got the gård back on track with the ostrich farm, the sawmill, which was already in place but inoperative and the herb shop, the örtagård. And I succeeded, but it was a tough time.”

Clarice nodded. “That´s very impressive. It really is.”

Sören leaned in a little closer to her, “So now you know almost everything about me, Clarice.”

 “Oh, I seriously doubt that, Sören , she interrupted him, but he continued unperturbed, “If there´s anything about your past you´d like to share with me, please feel free to do so now or any other time.”

Clarice looked at her watch, “Didn´t you say you have a meeting in Kalmar?”

Sören looked at his own watch and cursed, “Damn, so I have and I´ll be late if I don´t leave right now. Thanks for the coffee and the conversation, Clarice. See you soon, I hope. Hejdo”

“Hejdo”.

Clarice watched him get into his bronze coloured Volvo S60 convertible and speed off, roof down, since the weather permitted it. It was still fairly warm for September in Sweden. Although dark clouds were gathering on the horizon.

Chapter 3

While speeding down the alley away from the main house Sören noticed Per Nielson lurking by the side of the örtagård.  Something really needed to be done about him, he was becoming a real pest. Per Nielson was the living personification of the fate that would have beheld Sören´s father if he had lived. Once a fairly prosperous milk farmer, Per had owned and run the smaller gård Ludbyholm which was situated to the south of Vickleby, while Rettinge stood to the north of Vickleby. But worse than Sören´s father, Per had not only been a drunk, he had been a violent woman and child beater, too. Sadly his wife had waited until their two girls were almost grown-up and had moved out, before leaving him.

There was also a son, a boy, who had still been small when his wife Gunhild had left him. She had already been in her late forties when she had given birth to him and everyone had been extremely surprised and also a little horrified at the thought that the woman was not just subject to her husband´s physical abuse, which had more or less been an open secret, but also still had to comply to his sexual needs.

And then the biggest shock was yet to come. Eric, the boy, was born with Down syndrome.åå

Soon after the farm had gone bankrupt and was taken over by the bank. Gunhild Nielson had moved to a small apartment in Färjestaden, where she still lived today with Eric, their son.

One of Per Nielson´s daughters, Tilda lived at Rettinge and worked for Sören. She was his cleaning lady and occupied the second of the smaller houses on the estate.

As is so often the case with children who grow up with violent fathers, Tilda had married a man at a very young age who had displayed the same violent tendencies as her father. But unlike her mother she had not waited until their son Oscar was grown up to leave him. After a particularly violent attack on her and their son she had called the police and Henric Johannson, her ex- husband, was right now serving a three year sentence. Sören didn´t really know the technical term which warranted such a verdict and it didn´t matter as long as the man was locked up.

Sören´s father and Per Nielson had been good friends once, which was why he tolerated the man´s presence on Rettinge. Not so long ago he had done the odd little job here and there, repairing fences, light gardening work, helping in the stables, but his alcoholism had made him more and more unreliable and in the end even Sören had lost patience with him. Per lived in a tiny cottage in the woods which was the only thing left of his once substantial property. And yet he insisted on returning to Rettinge almost daily and annoying the hell out of everyone who worked and lived there. Tilda of course wanted nothing to do with him and didn´t want her son anywhere near him, either.

What was he going to do about Per, Sören pondered while driving along, this couldn´t go on forever until his liver finally gave up on him. He was a resistant fellow, he might live for years and years to come. He had to get rid of him somehow, he couldn´t continue to lurk around Rettinge, listening in on conversations, disturbing people while they were working. And he spied on everyone without shame or discretion. He was also drunk out of his head half the time. Alma was upset because he had started to harass some of her customers and Tilda was downright terrified of him.

Sören drove along the northern Alvaret and from his car he could see the Blue Henry, which was a rare kind of lichen, spray its marin onto the grey rocks while other ferns glowed with a dark crimson. But his thoughts about Per poisoned these beautiful impressions. Per had never really been violent towards anyone but his family in the past, but lately he had violent mood swings and Sören had no idea what to do about it. Of course he had begged the man to stay away from Rettinge, the ordered him, then tried to bribe him. Per knew of course that he, Sören, would never go to the police about him, he knew that only too well. Sören had consulted Kent Persson, his old schoolfriend and local police Inspector on the matter, but Kent had been strangely reluctant to discuss Per Nielson and rather vague about possible actions that could be taken to get rid of him. Sören had assumed that Kent had other more important matters to deal with at that time and had let the matter rest. Presumably the police were also helpless in such cases, as long as no damage was done to either property or people. So Per was more or less free to come and go as he pleased. Which he did on a daily basis.

Chapter 4

Sören thought back to the evening before, when he had had his monthly meeting with the old man. As usual Per Nielson had wandered into the house as if he owned it. Maybe he even had illusions of himself as the lord of the manor somewhere in his sick head. Sören always made sure that these meetings took place when Nanna, who was his housekeeper and cook, wasn´t home. Nanna had been his nanny when he had been small and she occupied a little flat at the back of the house. He and Nanna were very close, in fact she was more like a mother to him than his own mother had been. And the two of them often shared a drink or a meal together in the evening, so it was quite feasible that she might just walk in on one of Sören´s unpleasant meeting with Per Nielson, which Sören most definetly wanted to avoid. Per had served himself a gracious splash of Sören´s finest single malt and then brought forward his usual stream of accusations, threats and demands.

“So, young master of Rettinge, I´m glad you remembered to keep our little appointment. But then we both know what would happen if you didn´t, don´t we? Knowing what I know about you, it would not end well, would it?”

Sören handed him an envelope, “Cut the crap Per. Here´s your money and now get out of my house.”

 “Well, how´s that for manners? I think your parents taught you better than that. Throwing an old friend of the family out of the house, really,” he feigned outrage, but then a violent coughing attack interrupted his performance. Per took a dark round case out of his pocket and spat a large clump of chewing tobacco into it. An unpleasant, sharp smell immediately fanned out.

“Leave my parents out of this and you know where the door is. Excuse me if I don´t bother to show you out.”

 “Why the hurry, young Lord? You wouldn´t have another appointment with someone else would you? Maybe with that little redhead across the driveway?”

 “Goodbye Per.” Sören showed him the door, but Per would not budge.

 “She´s a pretty litte thing, that girl.” Per shoved a new clump of snus, the Swedish chewing tobacco, under his upper lip which then looked like it had been stung by a giant mosquito. “You know I´ve been thinking,” he continued, “Maybe I should warn her about you and tell her what the mighty young baron is really like. What do you think?”

Sören took a step towards him, “I wouldn´t if I were you.”

“Is that a fact? Somehow, Sören, I don´t think you of all people are in a position to determine what I do or don´t do.” As if to demonstrate his point he took the glass of single malt, emptied its contents on the polished hardwood floor and threw the glass over his shoulder. Then he took a long provocative sip straight from the bottle. Sören clenched his fists in his pockets and tried hard to remain in control.

 “If you go near her, I swear you´ll regret it”, he said.

“Oh, serious threats now! You want to fuck her that bad do you?” Per salaciously licked his lips and in the process bared some of his yellowing teeth, which were dark at the edges, from his continous use of snus. “Hm, well she´s probably worth it. She is a hot one. I wonder if she´s a real redhead. Only one way to find that out, isn´t there, Sören?”

Sören´s knuckles went white with the strain of controlling himself. “Get the hell out of my house, Per, before I forget myself.”

 “But that would be the end of you, too, wouldn´t it my young master? Don´t forget I have real evidence against you which is sure to be found should something happen to me. And come to think of it, I won´t even have to go near her. I can just drop a hint or slip a note through her letterbox. You can forget about banging her then, can´t you?” Per spat out a portion of snus again, but didn´t bother to take out his little case this time. A muscle moved in Sören´s jaw and he took another step towards Per. Per must have seen something in his eyes because he actually complied to Sören´s wish and left, taking the bottle of single malt with him as he went.

Chapter 5

Sören swiftly navigated his Volvo convertible onto the Öland bridge, which was a magnificent masterpiece of technical engineering.

The Ölandsbron was a road bridge connecting the island to Kalmar and the mainland. It was 6,072 metres long, supported on 156 pillars, and had a characteristic hump at its western end – to provide a vertical clearance for shipping. When Sören´s father had been younger and still interested in amusing his youngster, he would accelerate before approaching the hump and the car would go flying over and Sören´s tummy would tumble while the car descended on the other side of the hump.

It was one of the rare fond memories Sören had of his father. The bridge was the longest in Sweden and one of the longest in all Europe. It had been inaugurated in 1972 and its construction took four and a half years. The bridge project had received a lot of support, but there had also been protests. The main objection was that the bridge would threaten the environment, possibly causing a huge influx of tourists to Öland and its valuable nature. This seemed like a joke to Sören today, because Öland was so dependent on the tourist business nowadays, that it would more or less cease to exist without it. He himself couldn´t completely free himself from this dependence.

Usually Sören was annoyed by the Swedish habit of fastidiously sticking to the given speed limit, not one mile over and no mistake. But it was a gloriously sunny day and the bridge offered a really spectacular view of the open sea to the left and right of him. The modest skyline of Kalmar was dimly looming ahead and the sun was leaving sparkles all over the water, while the swans drifted over the sea like silver ballons. On a day like this he didn´t mind at all that he was stuck behind one of those typically pedantic, rule obeying Swedish drivers.

 He was moving along at a speed which would usually cause him to fall asleep or have a temper tantrum. While crossing the bridge Sören wondered what it was with Clarice that she constantly caused his mind to wander? He spent quite a big portion of his day thinking about her.

Well, she was enchantingly pretty, that would be one reason. And she was smart and interesting and mysterious and funny. A lot of reasons, then. So what was keeping him from making a move on her?

He knew why. She was pretty and smart and funny, but she was also aloof, non-committal and incredibly secretive about anything personal. As soon as he turned the conversation to a more personal level she either changed the subject or ended the conversation and walked off.

He was afraid that one day she would disappear just as quickly as she had entered his life and he had no interest in speeding up that process by being too intrusive or showing his romantic interest in her which he most definitely had. Only at one time had she given any indication that a tiny part of her brilliant mind was sometimes occupied with him too. On that occasion she had compared him to a fictional character in a popular movie based on the novels of J.R. Tolkien.

Sören had been busy stacking wooden logs into rows by the side of the house. His living room was located at the back of the house and had a pair of French doors which led out onto a wooden deck. Sören liked to place the firewood close to the deck, so he wouldn´t have far to go should he run out of logs for his open fireplace in the winter. Clarice had come from the direction of the forest which bordered on his property. Actually the forest was his property, too. She had obviously just returned from one of her long walks that she liked to take, all alone of course. Sometimes she went down to the beach. The forest seamlessly went over into a beach but the beach was not really attractive for bathing or for taking a sensual stroll in the sand at the water´s edge, because in this little cove the water kept on washing up an abundance of greenly-black algae which of course overlapped in a slimy, oily accumulation at the water´s edge and barred an untroubled, easy entrance into the water and the sandy land area was peppered with little rocks and clumps of reed. There was a little wooden pier which protruded into the algae-free zone oft he water and from which one could hop into the water quickly for a short swim. Clarice visited this beach in every weather, even when it was windy and raining. Sören, like every native who grew up on Öland, wouldn´t even dream of going to the beach in cold or ghastly weather. That was how you recognized a tourist or a newcomer to the island.

When Clarice was within earshot, he had interrupted his work for a moment and said,“Clarice, you do know that there are much nicer and proper beaches in the nearest vicinity, right?”

She had nodded, “Yes of course I know that, but they´re not within close walking distance, are they?”

“Yes, that´s true, but the other beaches are beautiful, with white sand, where one can walk unobstructed and bathe and stretch out in the sand.“

“I don´t want to stretch out in the sand”.

“No? What do you do at the beach then“?

“I smell the salty tang of the algae and the sea and listen to the gentle, rhythmic beating of the waves”.

“Ah. Well that´s nice. No shortage of rotting algae there. I´d say that salty tang is a somewhat euphemistic description for the smell they give off. Sewage plant would be more appropiate”

Clarice had smiled, “Yes, now and again, depending on how the wind blows. But that doesn´t matter. And anyway, I do sometimes visit other beaches“.

„Well, that´s alright then.” Sören had resumed stacking his logs.

She had silently watched him stacking the wood for a while and then thoughtfully remarked, “You know you look a lot like that elf, what´s his name again? Wait a minute, it´ll come to me… Legolas! That´s it. You know, from the Lord of the Rings.”

He had given her a puzzled and somewhat irritated look.

“I look like an elf? Elves are small, invisible people. How can I look like an elf?”

 “You do know the Lord of the Rings trilogy, the movies I mean?”

 “Yes... no, what is it?”

“Jesus, don´t you take any interest in popular culture at all?”

 “Of course I do, certainly I do. I watched a movie in Kalmar only last week.”

“What was it?”

“Edith Piaf.”

She had just stared at him.

“What´s wrong with Edith Piaf?” he had asked slightly peeved.

“Nothing is wrong with her. I own a couple of her recordings myself, she´s amazing, great voice, tragic life and everything, but she hardly classifies as popular culture. She would probably fall into the category of high culture, elitist even in your case.”

Was that an insult? Sören couldn´t say. “I´m not a teenager you know, I´m almost thirty-five years old.”

“So in that case you should have read Tolkien when you were a child.”

“Maybe, but I didn´t”.

 “What did you read? Hang on a minute, you can read, right?”

He had ignored that remark. “Like any child growing up in Sweden I read Astrid Lindgren. In fact I think it´s a law in our country. Every child must read Astrid Lindgren and only Astrid Lindgren or you get sent to a child correction centre.”

“Are you kidding me? That boy with the propeller on his back and that little girl with superhuman powers who lives in a house all by herself?”

“Aha, so you read them, too!”, he had said triumphantly, picking up another armful of logs from the wheelbarrow.

“I most certainly did not, but I have watched about a thousand repeats of those ghastly movies they made in the seventies, which they show here almost every Sunday morning. And that little girl in the suspender stockings and that little shirt dress? She´s every pedophiles´s dream.”

After which he had straightened up, towered over her and put on his sternest look. “So you´ve got a bit of a dirty mind, haven´t you little girl? Maybe you need to be spanked?”

She had laughed, given him a toothy grin, showing a row of gleaming white teeth and wandered off. At least he knew how she spent her Sunday mornings. He had consequently hired the first of those movies she mentioned and been relieved to see that the elvian hero in question was indeed quite a handsome fellow and a very brave and capable warrior.

Of course the likeness she had mentioned was of a purely aesthetical nature, but still.

He had hired the other two movies, too and been a little disturbed by the fact that his elvian alias remained almost androginous and unattached right through the movies. No girlfriend, woman or wife in sight. On the plus side no boyfriend either, if you discounted the dwarf. The elf did have a likeness to Sören, except that Sören´s hair was not that long. His hair only came down to his chin. And he would never ever braid his hair, only if someone held a gun to his head. His nose was also thinner and straighter and his eyes not quite so blue.  He was sure that guy was wearing contacts. And Sören was much taller than the elf, but that was because he wasn´t an elf, right?

Chapter 6

Sören arrived at his office right in the city centre and switched off all thoughts about Clarice. His office in Kalmar was a Clarice free zone, physically, since she had never actually been there and mentally because here he concentrated only on his work.

The client was already waiting for him and turned out to be a very attractive blond woman in her late thirties called Anna. They shook hands and promptly retreated to his office to go over her business plan together.

“Who buys all this stuff?” Sören thought again when she presented him with a list of her product range. The thought was a hypothetical one though, since he already knew what sort of customer group was attracted to ecological clothing. His market research team had already looked into that matter and written up an extensive report including impressive looking diagrams and statistical charts.

During the course of their meeting Anna flashed her legs at him several times and touched her knees to his more often than was absolutely necessary. And why not? Sören thought. He was single and free and in contrast to Clarice, Anna was not immune to his charmes and his looks, even though she herself was skinnier than he generally preferred. But she was still quite attractive and entertaining.

So after their meeting he invited her to dinner at one of the few really good restaurants the town had to offer. The restaurant was in walking distance from his office. When they passed the harbour Anna pointed to one of the bigger yachts anchored there and said, “Oh look at that boat. Isn´t it big and shiny?”

Sören nodded. It was big and shiny, what could he say?

He had noticed that although she was a successful business woman a lot of her statements were naiv and almost childlike. Maybe it was an act she put on when she was attracted to a man. Many men felt insecure around succesful women. Sören wasn´t one of them but he knew men who were.

The restaurant was furnished with glass sculptures, vases and multiple other decorative elements made out of glass. Even the candelabras were made entirely out of glass.

Öland belonged to the province of Småland and Kalmar was its capital. Småland was most famous for its traditional glass manufacturers and the restaurant was decorated with products of the most prominent glass factories, like Kosta Boda or Orrefors, although they were mostly owned by Danish investors nowadays. The Danish were taking over many things.

They gave the waitress their order of beef in mustard and savory sauce for Sören and mango, avocado and pear salad for Anna.

No wonder she´s so thin, Sören thought again. He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his red wine. Anna was drinking mineral water.

 “So Anna, tell me about yourself. Where are you from, what do you like? I´m all ears.”

And she gave him a rather extended account of her past, her likes and dislikes, which were plentiful , her ambitions and her plans for the future. So here at least was a woman who wasn´t afraid or reluctant to discuss her life with him. That made a nice change, Sören thought. Or did it? Why was he comparing Anna to Clarice all the time? Why couldn´t he just relax and enjoy this woman´s company without thinking about her all the time? He was actually annoyed with himself. He tried to concentrate solely on Anna and their conversation, which she seemed to enjoy so much that she switched over from mineral water to wine. In fact she emptied most of the bottle of red that Sören had ordered , since Sören was driving and had to watch his alcohol level. The drink-drive-limit was zero percent in Sweden and Sören was already over the limit with only one glass of wine and he had only recently paid a hefty fine for being well over the limit. He had almost lost his licence when the police had stopped him just short of the Ölandbridge. So he was being careful.

Sören looked at his watch,” Wow, that late already. Where are you staying, Anna? Is it close by?”

“Well actually I haven´t booked into a hotel yet. I was planning to do that after our meeting. But then I didn´t know you´d invite me to dinner. You wouldn´t have a place for me to stay over night, would you Sören?”

She looked at him adoringly out of big, bright eyes.

Sören didn´t really need a more obvious invitation than that. “You know Anna, you needn´t bother with a hotel. I have loads of room at my place. Why don´t I pay the bill and we can leave?”

“Sounds good to me.” On the way to Öland he regretted inviting her home to Rettinge. What if Clarice was still up and saw him arrive with Anna? But she had been without a hotel room and it was late. He couldn´t let her sleep on the street, could he? Why did he actually care what Clarice thought? And why was he justifying bringing a woman home to his house and his bed? He was free and single and not involved in any way with a red headed, single-minded, sarcastic theoretical physicist, was he?  Sören didn´t think she´d care anyway, so why should he feel guilty? Except he did.

Chapter 7

Clarice was having a bit of a bad morning.

First she had worked on her M-theory, which was an extension of String theory, till late in to the night, but without making any progress or getting anywhere close to a solution. And then when she had just decided to call it a night she had heard Sören´s Volvo speed up the alley and watched him disembark with a blond woman, dressed to kill and obviously enamored with him.

The two of them had disappeared in to the house together and a couple of minutes later she had seen the lights come on in his bedroom. Actually she only assumed it was his bedroom, since she had never set foot in it herself and wasn’t really planning on it in the near future. She was upset and she didn’t know why.

He was her landlord, not even a friend or anything and that was the way she wanted it. She didn’t want to become involved with anyone, even if he had been interested.

Which he obviously wasn’t.

For a short while she thought she had detected a slight romantic interest in her on his part and had quickly withdrawn to her shell, but he had never acted on it and had obviously moved on. Good, perfect. He could be happy with Blondie, that was fine with her. Then she had woken in the middle of the night due to a recurring nightmare which always left her feeling shaky and vulnerable. As usual she hadn´t been able to get back to sleep.

Of course her thoughts had gone to Sören and his blond femme fatale, who were probably snuggled up tight in the arms of Morpheus. That image did absolutely nothing to improve her mood. Especially not at four o’clock in the morning. But then she grudgingly decided that it really was best for Sören if he pursued other amorous interests, since she was a troubled woman with multiple traumas that she yet had to resolve. Sören didn’t deserve to be burdened with her troubles and as Aimee Mann sang very aptly,”Noone´s got that much ego to spare.” Then again Aimee Mann also sang “It’s not going to stop till you wise up.”

And Clarice was making a lot of progress in the wising up department, especially since she had been living in Vickleby. She felt secure and sheltered on the island and at Rettinge. Her nightmares had receded in the past few months and when she did have them, they were less daunting and powerful.

Still, it was all for the best if she and Sören didn´t get involved just then or ever.

Except that in the morning the water in her shower was cold again and she really, really hated cold showers. The temperature had dropped a little outside and the supermodern, energy saving heatpump always took its time adjusting to the outside temperature. She hadn´t actually managed to study the instruction manual yet, so she didn´t know how to get extra hot water.

And to top of her morning, she discovered Per Nielson peering through her bedroom window. This was not the first time she had caught him peeping through one of her windows or Tilda´s windows. He did it all the time and she had taken to keeping the blinds drawn until she was properly attired. Clarice had not spoken to Sören about this, because she knew he was getting enough trouble from Anna, Magnus and Tilda about Per´s constant and annoying presence on the gård.

She was a little surprised though, that he hadn´t acted more vehemently towards having him removed somehow and she couldn´t really fathom why. Two nights ago she had even seen him come out of the main house when Sören had obviously been at home. It was all a little strange.

There was a knock on her door. She peeped outside. It was Tilda. As usual Tilda looked a little uncomfortable and apprehensive when encountering Clarice. Clarice gave her a broad smile to make her feel more secure.

“Hey.”

“Hey. I was just wondering, I don´t want to bother you, but is your heat pump not working, either? I mean do you have only cold water too?”

“No, it isn´t. It´s a real bummer, isn´t it?”

“Yeah, I had to wash Oscar with cold water this morning and he really didn´t like it.”

“I´m not surprised. Listen, I´m going over to tell Sören. Maybe he knows how to work these things, he had them installed after all.”

“Oh, good. Could you, I mean do you mind asking him if he can fix mine, too?”

“Sure, no problem.”

“Oh thanks, thanks a lot.”

Clarice quickly threw on a pair of jeans and a sweater and purposefully marched over to the main house. She entered the house via the kitchen entrance at the side, as she always did. Nanna, Sören´s housekeeper was busy making more coffee for the happy couple.

“He has company this morning,  Clarice,” she whispered, even though there was no way Sören could have heard her from the wide and spacious dining room.

 “A dreadfully thin woman who drinks a lot of coffee.”

“Well good for him,” Clarice said.

Clarice had actually taken to visiting the big house and chatting to Nanna while she prepared Sören´s meals on a regular basis. Nanna had been Sören´s nanny when he was small and had stayed on as the cook when Sören got too big for a nanny. She was a cheerful, slightly overweight woman of about sixty withlively blue eyes. She and Sören were very close. Nanna was an excellent cook and Sören had several times invited Clarice to join him for dinner, because Nanna always cooked far too much. But this morning was obviously not one of those times when her presence was required. Well he would have to deal with her anyway.

“My shower is broken, I only have cold water, I need to talk to him”, she said and swiftly slipped past Nanna and in to the adjoining dining room.

Sören was in his usual place at the head of the table, reading the paper for heaven´s sake, like they were some old married couple. He was in what she thought of as his blue ensemble. Dark-blue pin striped jacket, dark-blue slacks and blue shirt open at the neck, no tie. He never wore ties. All his clothes looked like they were tailor made, which they probably were. He was really tall and she doubted he could wear anything of the rack. He also had his hair slicked back in a style reminiscent of Michael Douglas in Wall Street. She hated that look on him. She much preferred it when he just let his hair hang loose around his face.

But Sören´s hair was not really the issue right now, was it? The two of them hadn´t noticed her come in, but they would now. Hand on hips she declared, “Good morning. I´m sorry to disturb you in the middle of breakfast but my heat pump is not working. I realize the two of you are still basking in the afterglow of what was undoubtedly an energetic fulfillment of your biological urges, but would you mind sending someone over to adjust the heat pump?”

Sören almost dropped his piece of toast and Blondie turned a very ugly crimson red.

He fixated Clarice with a very cool stare and with obviously barely contained anger and very controlled movements he rose from his chair and coming towards her spat out “Anna, this is one of my tenants, Clarice Carter. Clarice let me introduce Anna, a client and personal friend.”

After which he more or less dragged her out of the room with a very firm grip on one of her arms.

“Ouch, you´re hurting me. Let go of my arm“, she sqeaked.

He turned so he was facing her, “What the hell do you think you´re doing? Coming over here, marching in to my house, into my dining room and insulting one of my guests during breakfast? A guest who just happens to be a very important client too.”

“Do you sleep with all your clients? I´m surprised you still find time to run your business.”

“Who I do or do not sleep with is none of your business, Clarice. You are my tenant, not the lady of the manor and have no business speaking to me the way you do.”

“What way? Alright, alright, calm down. I only want warm water. That damn heat pump isn´t working again.”

“That´s a  matter which you very well know you should be taking up with Magnus, not with me. He manages the estate and the houses. That is what I pay him for, that is his job. I have other things to attend to, like the little matter of running a busy company. Which is by the way Rettinge´s main source of income or do you think Rettinge survives on your and Tilda´s rent or the herb boutique or the ostrich farm? Those just barely cover the running costs, the consulting firm is what keeps this place going and you have probably just lost me a very lucrative client.”

 “I didn´t just come here because of the shower, I also came here to tell you that I have caught Per Nielson peering through my bedroom window and not the first time, either. And what are you going to do about that? Because you haven´t been exactly forceful on that matter have you? No, you even let him into your house, what is that about?”

“Excuse me?” Sören asked tensely.

“Yes, I saw him leave your house two nights ago. How can you let that disgusting old man into your house?  What do the two of you talk about while he´s here? Do you have an idle chat about each other´s days?”

She attempted to imitate Sören and  put on a poncy voice, “So Per, old sport, how was your day? Oh, nothing special Sören, just the usual really. Tried to catch a glimpse of Clarice getting dressed in the morning, then I harassed my daughter a bit, then I annoyed the hell out of Alma at the örtagård, then I drank two bottles of vodka and went to bed. How about you Sören, old chap?”

Do I really sound like that, Sören wondered, that´s terrible. “I don´t sound like that and I would never use the words “old sport”, he answered feebly.

Clarice glared at him, “That´s hardly the point is it?”

“Well what is the point, I´ve lost track?”

“The point is that you really need to do something to get that man to stay away from Rettinge. This is your land, for God´s sake. And yes, I know about the allemansrätten, but he´s disturbing the peace so the freedom to roam hardly applies in his case, does it?”

“Did it occur to you, Clarice, that he was here because I was trying to reason with him peacefully? I tried to talk some sense into that thick head of his because believe it or not, I don´t actually like him hanging around Rettinge all the time, either.” I am such a good liar, Sören thought.

“Well your methods of diplomacy haven´t worked, because he´s here, right now, out there,” Clarice said accusingly.

“I shall have to use more drastic methods then, but basically all of this is just distracting from the fact that your behavior this morning was equally unacceptable and rude.”

She gave him a haughty look, “Right, but in contrast to Per Nielson I will comply to your wishes and won´t come round unannounced anymore in the future. You´re right and I´m wrong, I apologize. Don´t worry, stick insect in there will stay with the firm, she has that desperate look about her. Maybe you should shag her again before lunch, just to be on the safe side. And make her eat something before relief agencies start dropping survival packages on to your house.”

And she left not banging the door as he had expected but closing it very gently and quietly.

Chapter 8

Fuck, Sören thought. Per Nielson really was becoming something of a major problem and he would deal with him, there was no way around it. The man was disturbing every area of his life.

He hoped he hadn´t completely alienated Clarice now.

That little speech she had given when she had marched in to his dining room? The woman really did have a mouth like a razor blade. She was a rhetorical monster.

Next time he had to give a speech somewhere he´d have her write it for him. But really he had been angry with himself, because it had been stupid to bring Anna home and he had just come to that conclusion himself again, when Clarice had burst in.

Anna was attractive and fairly entertaining, but he would soon get bored with her and then things would become akward, especially since she was a client.

Christ, couldn´t Clarice have sounded just a bit upset that he had had a woman here over night? But no, she had calmly and indifferently delivered her little speech and asked him to repair her shower. He actually liked her moving around the place like she owned it, coming and going at her pleasure. And now she wouldn´t any longer, if she stayed at all. Maybe she was already over there packing up, about to disappear completely from his life. Now that he thought about it, she had also looked a little pale and sort of tired. Then again he would be more than happy to take care of her when she was ailing, if she would only let him. And that thing about Per Nilsson, that really was the tip of the iceberg. He hadn´t known the old man had now turned into a peeping Tom too. The image of Per Nielson watching Clarice do something private like getting dressed in the morning made his blood boil. Per had to go, somehow.

So Clarice had seen him leave the big house that night? That was bad. He could not tell her or anyone for that matter what Per had been doing here. He could never tell anyone.

It was his burden to bear and his alone.

He returned to the dining room where Anna was still seated drinking yet another cup of coffee. She had hardly eaten anything and he suspected that she was one of those women who survived solely on water, coffee and diet coke all day, since she had that starved, skin and bones look about her.

 Sleeping with her had been like fucking a freaking skeleton. He was sure he had heard hear bones crack once or twice. No soft curves or fleshy spots anywhere. Were there really men who liked that kind of thing or did women just imagine there were men who liked that kind of thing?

Or did woman just like to compete with each other as in: Let´s see who can slip herself between the wall and the radiator and she who can´t is a fat cow.

Clarice was no skeleton, she was nice and curvy in all the right places. Nice and slim and curvy. Not that it showed so much in those jeans and university sweatshirts she insisted on wearing all the time when she was at home. She did dress up for work though. She favoured dark coloured snug fitting trouser suits. And high heels. Maybe she wanted to set herself apart from the students. She was still so young to be a professor. He wondered how she kept that figure of hers, because she didn´t seem to engage in any athletic activities he had noticed. She rode her bike everywhere in and around Vickleby, but did bicycle riding really do that much for you? She wasn´t exactly putting in Tour de France miles, was she?

He dragged his thoughts away from Clarice and her curves and back to the present. He cleared his throat and started to say something when there was a knock on the door.

Sören gave Anna an apologetic look, “Sorry Anna, it´s a bit of a hectic morning today.”

He left her again and hopefully opened the door only to find that dreadful woman from the local heritage club on his doorstep. What was her name again?

“Lord Hellström, I wish you a very good morning.”

Sören sighed. She was the only person he knew who insisted on calling him by his title, even though he had repeatedly told her not to and had offered his first name to her several times. But to no avail. She was one of those people who felt elated from her own mediocre position in life by coming into contact with someone higher up on the social ladder than herself, no matter how perfunctory that contact was. She was also the least attractice woman he knew and those dreary clothes and wire rimmed glasses she wore all the time didn´t help.

 “Good morning Miss Sjöquist” Thankfully he had remembered her name at the last minute.

“I must talk to you about our annual guided tour of Rettinge and we have new members in the svenska-tyska sällskåpet, who are also interested in joining the tour. It is as you very well know in two weeks.”

He knew nothing of the kind, but he did know what she was talking about. Miss Sjöquist was not only the chairman of the local national heritage society but also chairman of the Swedish-German club, whose membership boasted a whole pack of Germans and one Swedish person: Annet Sjöquist herself.

He never really did fathom the point of such clubs. Why would anyone move to another country, only to herd themselves together in a club consisting of fellow citizens from the country they had left? If they were so eager on being with their own kind, so to speak, why on earth didn´t they stay in their home country in the first place?

Nevertheless Miss Sjöquist regularly offered guided tours of Vickleby and any places of interest in its nearest vicinity which included Rettinge. Mostly it was tourists and the odd new person in town who took part in these tours and of course new members of the Swedish-German club.

She continued, “Of course I am particularly interested in not having a repetition of that most embarrassing scene in January, where that awful Mr. Nielson hurled a load of most insulting abuse at my guests. We really must see to it that he is not present during the tour this year. You do know what I´m talking about, Lord Hellström?”

Yes, he knew. How could he forget. Last year Per Nielson had invaded Miss Sjöquist´s little guided tour of Rettinge and shouted “Heil Hitler” greetings accompanied by the appropriate hand gesture at the appalled members of the Swedish-German club. Actually that little scene had been one of the funnier moments in Per Nielson´s illustrious career as Vickleby´s most hated citizen. Sören had found the expressions on the faces of the tour members quite hilarious. A sentiment that was apparently shared by Clarice, who had joined the tour because she was genuinely interested in Rettinge and its history. Sören had felt her shaking with silent laughter beside him. But of course Per Nielson had had to be forcefully removed from the premises and apologies had been made all around. Miss Sjöquist had been beside herself with anger and grief.

The island was teeming with German pensioners who had lived all their life in big cities like Hamburg and Berlin. Tired of city life they had bought huge properties here. They lived a very comfortable life with a little gardening, walking, excursions with the Swedish-German club and swimming in the summer. Most of them kept a small apartment  in Germany which they used during the winter. The winters on Öland could be rather nasty, with temperatures sometimes below minus fifteen degrees and cold winds blowing in from the sea. Many islanders did not look too favourably on what they called the “German invasion”, but Sören thought every person willing to move here and spend money was a blessing for Öland. Which was why he put up with the annual guided tour of his premises for the Swedish-German club and even sometimes accompanied and led a part of that tour himself. As he had last year, when Per Nielson had made his little entrance. His house was off-limits though. The day he became so desperate that he let troops of strangers trample through his house in exchange for a minor fee, he would give the whole thing, house and land to the government and let them take care of it. That day was long off though as he was not hurting for money.

Miss Sjöquist had made a very tentative enquiry about his wine cellar last year and its possible inclusion in the tour, but had quickly withdrawn the question after Sören had given her such a sharp riposte, that the poor woman had almost jumped out of her skin.

“What do you suggest we do about him, Miss Sjöquist?” Sören asked. “I assure you we have tried every approach possible to keep him away from this place, but he insists on coming over here again and again. I am open to any ideas you might have on the matter.”

Annet shook her head and said “Well, I really don´t know. He really is the most unpleasant man, isn´t he? Have you tried speaking to the police about him?”

 “I have. They can do nothing.”

 “Nothing? But that cannot be, he is most vicious and probably dangerous and not to be trusted.”

He is indeed not to be trusted, Sören thought, but you don´t know how little he is to be trusted.

He said, “The thing is, Miss Sjöquist, he has never actually physically harmed anyone here or done any real damage to my property, so the police have nothing they can use against him. Now if he had actually physically attacked one of the members of the club, that would have been a completely different matter and we would be well rid of him by now.” Rettinge might be rid of him, but he Sören would only be rid of Per Nielson when he was dead in the ground, that much he knew.

“Dear God, Lord Hellström, perish the thought that one of my club members would come to harm by this horrid man.” “Well, I was speaking hypothetically of course Miss Sjöquist, I do not wish any harm to come to anyone visiting Rettinge. Especially not your dear old pensioners.”

“Yes well, what are we to do?”

Sören sighed, “Don´t worry, I shall have a serious talk with him and if all fails I shall have to bribe him into keeping the peace.” Shouldn´t be too hard Sören thought. He had enough practice there, didn´t he.

“Leave it to me and now you must excuse me, I have important matters to see to.“

Sören turned to go back into the house but Annet Sjöquist held him back, “Lord Hellström, you are aware that the tour coincides with the Skördefest in two weeks, are you not?” Sören groaned“Oh hell, so it does. The place will be packed.”

“Yes indeed and I had an idea. Why don’t we open the tour to the general public, too? It would be an additional activity at the Skördefest.”

“Sure, go ahead, why not? Now if you have any more questions about the tour or the Skördefest, please feel free to contact my estate manager or Alma. Goodbye Miss Sjöquist.”

“Well yes goodbye Lord Hellström and we will see you during the tour next week, will we not?”

“I can´t promise anything, but I will try to make it happen.”

“Oh, please do”.

“Right, goodbye.”

It was necessary to end a conversation with her that abruptly otherwise one never got rid of the damn woman.

And he had forgotten about the Skördefest the following week. The Skördefest was the annual harvest festival which was spread out all over the island and attracted thousands of visitors. Pumpkins were placed upon the top of bales of hay to signal that harvest goods were available for sale at the location.  Every entrepreneurial establishment opened its doors all weekend late into the night and in addition to its normal  range of products or gastronomical choices there were also special activities like concerts, art exhibitions, games for the children and special menues to choose from. At the örtagård for example Alma would be offering homemade pumpkin soup and smoked ostrich meat with homebaked bread. And of course Miss Sjöquist would be offering tours of the premises now. They would also have an additional snack van selling doughnuts and candy floss for the kids, since there were always plenty of children around who were probably not too keen on pumpkin soup and ostrich meat. Sören loved doughnuts himself, but rarely indulged himself. But he made an exception at the Skördefest. Even though he had seemed dismissive and vague with Annet Sjöquist, he knew exactly what was going to take place where and when on Rettinge. Anna, Magnus and Sören had meetings about everything concerning the estate on a regular basis, including the Skördefest.

He returned to the dining room a second time that morning to find Anna still there with an expectant look on her face. “Well, well, you are a busy man, aren´t you? You can´t even have breakfast in peace without people bothering you left, right and centre.”

He didn´t tell her that he usually liked to be bothered by one of those people.

But Anna had not finished yet, “And who was that bad tempered little redhead? Is she a close acquaintance of yours? She must be, otherwise she wouldn´t have had the nerve to barge in here like that.”

Oh yes she would, Sören thought. “She´s my tenant, she rents one of the houses on the estate.”

“A tenant?? You let people who rent  from you speak to like that? I must say, I´m beginning to become a little disillusioned in you. Are you really that soft? These people will walk all over you, if you let them.”

“Right, thanks for the advice. Listen I think we should get going soon, We need to go over the details of your business plan again.”

They drove to Kalmar and Sören was spared any further private conversation with Anna, as she was constantly busy talking into her mobile phone and checking messages.

Why had he even taken her to Rettinge, he wondered. He had a perfectly nice place in Kalmar too which he usually used when he had long meetings or had to take customers out for a night on the town and knew he was going to be drinking. Or when he just felt like staying in Kalmar, which hadn´t been often since Clarice had moved in.

Chapter 9

Wow, little Miss Einstein next door had feelings, how about that! Tilda had watched an obviously miffed Clarice march over to the big house and come out a little while later, visibly upset. After that she had disappeared in to her house, banging the door so loudly that Tilda could hear it across the driveway.

Not that Tilda had anything against Clarice. She was a good neighbour, no trouble at all. She kept to herself most of the time and seemed a bit of a loner but that was much better than having a nosey busybody next door. And Tilda understood about keeping to yourself. She had had more than her fair share of gossip and nasty rumours trailing her all her life. Oscar, Tilda´s four year old son, had taken to Clarice immediately, even though Clarice had done her best to ignore him. But children were like that, weren´t they? You tried to win their favour and they brushed you off. You ignored them and they want you to like them. So Oscar had done his best to get Clarice to notice him and she hadn´t been able to ignore him for long. He ran over there all the time now but Clarice didn´t seem to mind and even kept him busy with painting materials, games and interesting little technical gadgets which Tilda had never seen before. Maybe Clarice made them herself. Sometimes they just sat and talked but when questioned later by Tilda about the content of those conversations, Oscar could never say exactly what it was they had talked about. As long as she was nice to him, it didn´t matter, did it? Obviously she and Clarice would never be friends, would they? Clarice being so smart and everything. Wasn´t she a professor or something? And Tilda just cleaned houses.

She had left school at the earliest opportunity, to get away from home and from him, her father. Then she had met Henric and he had seemed so nice and gentle, but it hadn´t lasted long. Unfortunately she had already married him and become pregnant before she realized she had married a monster. A man just like her father.

But she had not stayed with him and made her whole life and her child´s life a living nightmare. She had left him as soon as possible. He had followed her wherever she went, constantly threatening to hurt her and Oscar if she didn´t come back to him. But she hadn´t and one night he had broken into the little house she was renting at that time in Färjestaden and beaten the living daylights out of her. A neigbour had called the police and he had been taken away. That had been a year ago. He had been sentenced to three years and then he would be out. He was undergoing therapy in prison and Tilda hoped it would help. When she had recovered from her injuries, Sören Hellström had offered her the cleaning job and this house. He was such a nice man and so polite. Of course he was quite a bit older than her, more than ten years older. She didn´t find Sören quite as staggering as most of the other women she knew in the village. Some of them almost swooned when they talked about him. For her he was too old and she had known him too long.

Clarice didn´t seem to be overly impressed by him either or she just didn´t show it. Tilda knew Sören had offered her the job and the house as a show of loyalty towards her and her family. Rettinge and Ljudbyholm had been the biggest gårds on southern Öland and Per Nielson and Fredrik Hellström had been good friends. She wondered why Sören was still single. Surely he met loads of women through his work or at one of those galas and charity balls he was constantly invited to. Not that she was privy to Sören Hellström´s social life but she often saw him emerge from the house in the evening dressed in black tie and men only wore that when they were going somewhere posh and really fancy, right?

Anyway, she didn´t really care, she had other worries. One of them was outside right now, staggering towards her house. It was the bane of her life, her father. She had told him again and again that she didn´t want to talk or even see him but as usual he didn´t care what other people wanted. Why did he come here all the time, when he knew everyone hated him. But then people hated him everywhere, so it didn´t make any difference to him.

He had ruined her childhood and most of her youth. She remembered an incident when she had come home late one day and he had gripped her by the neck, almost suffocating her and banged her head against the wall again and again. This was only one of many violent scenes inscribed on her mind. You didn´t just forgive and forget something like that because your father was now old and sick.

In fact she wished he would just stay in his hut and finally drink himself to death.  The worst part about the abuse hadn´t actually been the abuse itself, it had been the loss of love and respect. The abuse really became part of everyday life. You got into a sort of perverse routine. If you came home late you got your head banged against the wall, if you dropped a glass or spilled something you got beat with a leather belt and so on. But the lack of love was something you never got used to.

Her mother had done her best but had been too frightened and wrapped up in her own misery to be a comfort. And now her mother was living in Färjestaden with Eric, her little brother. Their relationship was strained of course. Tilda had never really forgiven her for not leaving her father much earlier and saving her and her sister a lot of pain and distress. But they met now and again and her mother was very attached to Oscar and Oscar to her. She was a good grandmother, even if she had been a failure as a mother.

There was a knock on the door. He knew she wouldn´t open up, so why did he bother to knock. Tilda didn´t answer.

“I know you´re in there, let me in, I want to see my grandson.”

“Go away”, she called fiercely.

“Where is my grandson, I want to see my grandson, I´m a dying man. A man has a right to see his grandson.”

 Thank God Oscar was at the kindergarten. He banged on the door again.

“I told you to stay away from him. And you´re not dying,

I wish you were. And you have no right to anything, you drunken old bastard.”

“I will see my grandson. I will stay here and wait until you go and pick him up. You do have to pick him up, don´t you? I´ll stay here and wait for him.”

“Go away. Leave us alone or I´ll call the police.”

He gave a nasty little laugh. “Yes, call the police. What can they do, I´m just a harmless old man who wants to see his grandson. No harm in that, no harm at all. Maybe I´ll go to the dagis myself and wait for him there. They let them out to play, don´t they? I sometimes talk to him over the fence.  Maybe he and I will take a little walk together.”

“I´ll kill you if you go anywhere near him, do you hear me, I´ll kill you.”

“Why? I won´t harm him. I wouldn´t do that. I just want to be with him a little.”

“Well you can´t. I don´t want you near him.”

“Well, we´ll see about that, won´t we? I have rights, too, I´m his grandfather. I want to see him and I will see him.”

Why oh why didn´t Sören do something to keep him away from here? Tilda thought as she had so many times before. This was his land after all; surely there must be something he could do? She would just have to pick Oscar up and take him to her mother´s in Färjestaden, because there was no way she was bringing him home with her father waiting on their front step.

She heard someone else coming towards her house outside. She peeped through her curtains. It was Magnus.

Magnus approached Per and laid a hand on his arm. “Per, why don´t you leave the poor girl alone, haven´t you done enough to her already?”

“I just want to see my grandson, that´s all.”

“He´s not here, Per. He´s at the dagis and won´t be home for hours. Look, I´ve got a nice bottle of Scotch Whisky in my office. How about we both go over there and have a sip to warm us up a bit. It´s a bit chilly this morning, don´t you think?”

 Scotch whisky was not an offer Per Nielson got very often these days, except at his monthly meetings with Sören Hellström and even then it wasn´t exactly handed out voluntarily. Per willingly followed Magnus to his office. Tilda gave a sigh of relief. Magnus was the only one who could still handle the old man, but even his grip on him was waining. Please God, when would he die?

Magnus led Per Nielson to his office, which was located in a rectangular side building, just to the right side of the barn and the ostrich enclosure. He handed Per a glass of single malt. The whisky had been a birthday present from Sören but Magnus wasn´t really a great fan of Scotch whisky, or any whisky really. He preferred beer and the occasional glass of wine.

Magnus sat across from Per, “Per, why don´t you leave Tilda alone? She´s a good, hardworking girl and a single mother. You should be proud of her, not making her life more difficult.”

“I just want to see my grandson. I don´t want to make her life difficult. All she has to do is let me see him. But no, that´s too much to ask.”

“Per, are you actually surprised about that? She´s afraid of you and afraid you´ll hurt her son. After how you used to treat her and her sister and their mother, it´s no wonder is it?”

Per helped himself to another glass of single malt, Magnus didn´t comment, “I won´t hurt him or her. I don´t do that anymore. She should give me a chance, shouldn´t she? Everyone deserves a second chance, right?”

“She doesn´t trust you, Per.”

“Well, she could try, couldn´t she? Maybe you can talk to her, she trusts you. You could talk to her, tell her to give me another chance. Let me see my grandson. I have feelings, too you know.”

Magnus sighed; the old man was stubborn and ignorant.

He didn´t understand that Tilda didn´t give a shit about him and his feelings and she wasn´t interested in giving second chances, she just wanted him out of her life. But he needed to keep the old man placid, so he wouldn´t go about creating more havoc.

“Alright, Per, I´ll try and talk to her but you have to promise me that you will not go about creating trouble and upsetting people here at Rettinge anymore, alright?  Sören Hellström is slowly losing patience with you, Per and this is his land and his gård.”

Per gave a vicious little laugh, “Oh I don´t have to worry about the high and mighty baron.”

“Oh really? And why is that, Per?”

Per leaned forward conspiratorially, “I know things about him, you know. He did something very bad once and I know. And he knows I know, so he won´t do anything about me or I´ll tell everyone and then he will be in big trouble. No more the high and mighty lord of the manor then, you know? I have him in my hand, you see? But I can´t tell you about his hideous crime, because he and I have an agreement, you know?”

Magnus was speechless for a moment. What was the old man talking about now? He had Sören in his hand? Sören had committed a crime?

Even if he had, how would Per know about it? And what on earth could Sören have done that was so bad that Per could threaten him with the knowledge of this hideous crime?

No, Per Nielson was a sick man with a sick delusional mind. But Per was obviously expecting some kind of reaction from him in regard to his sensational revelations about Sören Hellström. Magnus didn´t think it was a good idea to tell him that he didn´t believe a single word of it, so instead he just grunted non-committally and said, “Well, that´s very interesting Per and good for you, I guess. But I wouldn´t go round telling everyone you are privy to Sören´s terrible secret, because I´m not sure if people will believe you. And we don´t want to start any half-baked rumours, do we?”

Per seemed pleased with this answer,“Oh, I wouldn´t dream of it. If and when I tell the world what I know, there will be nothing half-baked about it. Because you see Magnus, I have real hard evidence against him and there will be no doubt about his guilt when I bring forward my evidence.”

Now Magnus knew that the old man was completely off his rocker. “Er, okay Per, that´s good. Now, as pleasant as it is chatting to you, I really must be getting on.”

“Oh, so must I, so must I. I have people to see and things to do.”

Magnus gave him a sharp look, “Now remember, Per, you promised no more trouble at Rettinge, if I talk to Tilda.” “Oh, don´t worry, my business at hand has nothing to do with Rettinge. In fact I shall be leaving Rettinge and Vickleby for the day. I have errands elsewhere.”

“Right, okay, that´s good.”

“So thank you for your help regarding Tilda and now I really must be on my way.”

Per left the office and headed for the alley leading down to the main road. He looked at his watch. He had a bus to catch to Färjestaden but there was still plenty of time. When he passed the örtagård he was just in time to see Annet Sjöquist come out and head for her car. She´s probably been discussing the schedule of her guided tours for the Skördefest with Alma, Per thought. Well no time like the present to remind her of her obligations to me. Per stepped in her way, “Ah, the lovely Miss Sjöquist, how pretty you look today.”

Annet tried to sneak past him quickly, but he held on to her arm. “But where to so quickly, my fair maiden?”

“I am warning you, Mr. Nielson, let go of my arm.”

He leaned in to her and she could smell the alcohol on his breath,” Or what? What are you going to do? Complain about me? I don´t think so. Because we both know what will happen then, don´t we? And we don´t want that, do we? So don´t forget about our little meetings, Miss Sjöquist, or everyone will know about you. And people like nothing more than nasty gossip. And then life as you know it won´t be the same anymore, will it?”

Annet shook him off and hurried away as fast as she could. The man was unbearable. She tried to avoid him as much as possible, but he always managed to catch her off guard. Why couldn´t the earth just open up and swallow him, so they would all be rid of the old bastard?

Chapter 10

Gunhild Nielson was just serving a customer when she saw him approach through one of the bakery´s huge front windows. Oh hell, she thought, what is he doing here?

I thought he´d stopped coming round here. What does he want now? Thank God she was alone that morning. The other shop assistant had called in sick that morning and since the tourist season was almost over, Gunhild had no trouble taking care of the customers in the bakery all by herself.

The bakery was open all year round, since there was hardly anything Swedish people enjoyed more than their “Fika”. The word “Fika” basically encompassed the act of drinking coffee and eating cake or biscuits, or soft sweet buns or cinnamon rolls or tarts or doughnuts or anything that was sweet and sticky. So the bakery did business all year round, even without the tourists. Most of the cafes in and around Färjestaden though closed during the winter months, since most Swedish people liked to “fika” in the privacy of their own four walls.

Why pay for something if you can get it for free? This was unfortunately a common attitude which the majority of Swedish citizens in rural communities shared. So noone hardly ever encountered a café or a gastronomical establishment out in the Swedish countryside.

Per Nielson entered the bakery. To Gunhild´s surprise he actually waited until she had dealt with the only customer in the shop, before addressing her.

In the past he had wandered into the bakery while she was busy dealing with customers and had interrupted her with groundless threats and accusations. Of course this had not gone down well with her boss, who was an understanding woman, but had her limitations. She was most specifically not interested in losing business on account of Gunhild´s marital problems.

Gunhild had tried to reason with Per, but it was only when her boss had threatened to call the police that he had finally relented and left. And he had not been back until now.

She finally turned to him, “Per, what do you want? You know you´re not allowed in the bakery, my boss will call the police.”

“Yeah, yeah, don´t get your knickers in a twist. I only want to know Ingrid´s address in Borgholm.”

Ingrid was their younger daughter who worked and lived in Borgholm, which was the island´s capital.

“Why do you want her address? Don´t tell me you want to go and see her? Why would you want that?”

 “She´s my daughter too, you know. A man can go and visit his daughter if he feels like it. Anyway, I have something for her. I want to give her some money.”

Gunhild gasped, “Money? You want to give her money? What, you think you can buy yourself back into their lives after all you´ve done? And anyway, where would you get money from? You´re on social security.”

“Never you mind. I have my sources of income and I want to share some of my good fortune with my daughter. So, where does she live?”

“I´m not telling you.”

“That´s what I thought. I shouldn´t have bothered coming here.” At that moment Eric came wandering in from the back room. He had a bit of a cold, so Gunhild had kept him home from school that day and taken him in to work with her. He pulled at her sleeve, “Mama, look. Eric finished the puzzle, all finished. Eric is a clever boy, no?” It was a puzzle which was designed for an age group several years younger than him of course.

Per groaned, “What is that that idiot son of yours doing here?”

Eric gave Gunhild a puzzled look, who quickly drew him aside and said, “Eric, sweetheart, you did very well with the puzzle. How about practicing your writing a bit? You might write a test next week in school, you know.”

Eric smiled, nodded and skipped off to the back room again. He was such a happy child.

Per asked incredulously, “A test? They let that little moron write tests? What´s the point of that? What a waste of taxpayer´s money. He´s going to be stacking shelves at the ICA  for the rest of his life, which won´tbe long anyway. Even I remember the doctors saying that he could drop dead any time.”

Gunhild felt a painful stab in her heart, but only sighed and said, “He is your son, too, you know. And he is not an idiot, he is merely mentally retarded. And please refrain from calling him names when he is present or you and I will never speak again.”

Per who gave a short, loud bark “That moron is no son of mine, he is another man´s son. You fucked another man while you were married to me and he gave you that sick boy. Well serves you right! Serves you right to be lumbered with that pathetic creature. He is no son of mine, I would never have produced something like that.”

Gunhild quietly counted to a hundred, a tactic she had applied many times when she had still been married to the nasty piece of work in front of her. There was no point in arguing with him, he would only get more agitated and aggressive.

”We are not married anymore, Per and I don´t have to listen to your groundless irrational accusations anymore. Now please leave.”

“Oh well, aren´t we the clever one today? Don´t worry I´m leaving, I have more important things to do. If you won´t give me Ingrid´s address, I´ll just go to her place of work and wait for her. I know where she works, you know, I know that much.”

And he left banging the door loudly behind him. Gunhild went to fetch her mobile. She had to warn Ingrid that her father was on his way to see her.

After she had talked to Ingrid she joined Eric in the backroom and sat across from him at the little table. Eric was concentrating on his homework, tightly gripping the pen in his hand, his tongue protruding a little from his mouth, because he was trying very hard to get the letters right.

Gunhild´s mind flashed back to the day eight years ago, when she had left Per Nielson for good.

Chapter 11

Eric had been only three then. The scene had been a similar one. Eric had been sitting at the kitchen table, scribbling on a pad of paper with some extra thick crayons Gunhild had bought him. Gunhild had been standing by the stove preparing dinner. The mechanical milker had broken down a couple of times that week and Per was still out trying to get the machine to operate again. Gunhild prayed that he wouldn´t be in a terrible mood when he came home. But her payers had not been answered.

The first thing he did when he came in was to get a beer from the fridge. He leaned back against the kitchen counter so he was facing her. Then he poked her in the side not too gently and gave a short nod in the direction of Eric.

“What´s he doing here at my table in my kitchen? I told you I don´t want him around here.”

Gunhild didn´t answer. Sometimes he let her be when she just stayed quiet and didn´t react. But not that time.

Per poked her in the side again, this time a little harder.

“I said, what is that little bastard doing here in my kitchen? And look at me when I´m talking to you.” He gripped her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him.

Gunhild turned her head away and quietly said, “He lives here Per. Where else shall I keep him?”

Per gave a malicious laugh and said, “Do you think I care? How about the barn, that would be a good place for him.”

“Per, he´s only a little boy and he´s not bothering you,” Gunhild said again in a docile voice.

Per poked her in the side again, this time even harder.

“What did you say? What? He´s not bothering me? He bothers me all the time. He bothers me because he´s here. How dare you contradict me, you stupid bitch.”

“Sorry”, Gunhild answered submissively. She had lost any form of self-respect long ago.

But sorry didn´t do it for Per. “Sorry? That´s it? That´s all you´ve got so say about lumbering me with that freak of nature? Sorry?” Per was almost shouting now.

Eric was distracted from his drawing and looked at them with uncomprehending but watchful eyes.

“Mama?” he asked warily.

Gunhild quickly turned to him and said soothingly, “It´s alright, angel boy, everything is alright. Daddy is just a little upset. But it will be alright.” And the moment she said it, she knew it was a mistake. She should have just grabbed Eric and gotten him out of Per´s sight. But sometimes she didn´t know anymore what was right and what was wrong.

Per exploded, grabbed her arm, swung her around and screamed in her face, “What did you say? Daddy? I´m not that little freak´s Daddy, I would never produce something like that. You fucked another man. That freak is no son of mine.”

“Per please”, she begged, „You know that´s not true, calm down.”

“You think you can tell me what to do, you slut? Nobody tells me what to do, especially not unfaithful slutty wives. I think you need to be taught a lesson.” And in the same instant he slapped her across the face. Eric started crying loudly.

Per strode over to him and dragged him out of his chair by his little arm. Eric wailed in terror and pain.

Gunhild was immediately by his side and tried to loosen Per´s grip on Eric´s arm. “Per”, she cried, “Please let him go, you´re hurting him.”

Per took Eric´s arms in one hand and with the other gave her a hard shove, so that Gunhild flew backward and landed on her back.

He spat out at her „I’m taking him where he belongs. From now on the bastard can stay in the stables with the other animals, where he belongs. And then we will have some order in this house again.” He began dragging Eric towards the door.

By that time Eric was screaming like a banshee and choking on his tears.

Gunhild struggled to her feet, lunged at Per and held him back by the back of his shirt.

“Please Per, please,” she cried, “he´s only a little boy. He doesn´t understand. He´s sick, he has a weak heart, you might kill him. He might have a heart attack.”

Per turned and tried to shake her off, “Well that would be the best thing for all of us, wouldn´t it? In fact you´ve just given me an idea. I´ll just scare the little bastard so much that he´ll drop dead on the spot.” And he continued to drag little Eric, who was howling at the top of his voice, by the arm towards the door.

Gunhild held on to his shirt and tried to drag him back. Per let go of Eric, turned, grabbed her by the front of her blouse and brutally shoved her backwards against the wall, one hand held tightly around her neck, while he prepared to deal a blow to her face with the other.

Eric was on the floor and curled into a fetal position, quietly whimpering. At that moment they heard a knock on the front door and shortly after they heard a voice calling out, “Hello? Anyone home?”

It was Frederik Hellström. Thank God, Gunhild thought. Frederik Hellström was also a drunk and a gambler, but he was no wife and child abuser. He would not approve if he happened to walk in on a scene of domestic violence. And for reasons that Gunhild couldn´t fathom, Per wanted Frederik´s approval.

Per let go of Gunhild and hissed, “Get yourself and that freak out of here. I don´t want him to see you like this, you pathetic bitch.”

Gunhild lost no time in following his orders. She grabbed Eric from the floor, carried him into her bedroom and locked the door. Then she sat on her bed and cradled Eric in her arms for a long time. And she knew clear as crystal that she had to go and leave Per as soon as possible. Right away. He harboured an irrational, vicious hate against Eric and he would never leave him alone. Maybe he would really kill him one day. She had to protect Eric and she could only do that if she left. Gunhild had packed a suitcase and then with Eric in tow had crept past the living room, where Per had been entertaining Frederik Hellström. And then she had driven herself and Eric right out of there and into a new life. And she had never looked back.

Chapter 12

Nadja Cederbrink had just returned from taking her son Tim to school that morning. Usually he cycled to school but that day they were going on an excursion and he had more stuff than usual to carry. She had just opened the door, when the phone rang. Nadja caught it on the third ring, “Hej, Nadja here.” “Guess who?” an unwelcome familiar voice said.

Nadja closed her eyes. No, she thought, it couldn´t be, he couldn´t have found out her number, it was a new one and unregistered.

“Did you think getting a new number would help?” the voice said again, “All I have to do is ask your parents, you stupid bitch. I´m good at making up stories.”

Of course, Nadja thought, her parents, she had forgotten to tell them not to hand out her number to anyone. Damn. But why did they think she had an unregistered number if they then went and handed it out to everyone who asked for it? But they were old and she couldn´t blame them.

“What do you want?” she asked stiffly.

“I want to see Tim.”

Nadja laughed hoarsely, “Forget it. Never, ever, ever.”

“Oh is that so? Never, ever? That long, huh? Well in that case I shall just have to give your husband a ring, won´t I? I have his number, too, you know. And I know where he works. Might pay him a visit. I have all the time in the world. Don´t think you´d like that though.”

Nadja froze. What to do? What to do? She couldn´t let him talk to Jan. Everything would brake apart. Her whole life, her marriage. Damn that man. She hated him with all her heart. Really hated him.

“Hello? You still there? I want an answer, I´m not going away until I get one. I want to see Tim and soon.” His voice was louder and aggressive now.

She thought quickly, “Alright, alright. You win. You can see him, but of course I will have to prepare him for such a meeting. You understand that, don´t you? He´s twelve now, not a baby. He needs to know certain things before he meets you and it will take time, you understand don´t you?”

“Yes,” he said calmer now, “I understand. Fine, but not too long, I´m not a patient man, you know. I´ll be in touch again, soon. Hejdo”. He hung up.

Nadja sat there for a while longer, holding the receiver in her hand. This had to stop. The man was ruining her whole life. She was constantly afraid that he was going to show up on her doorstep or contact Jan and tell him everything. She couldn´t even sleep anymore at night without taking pills. And now he wanted to see Tim.

You will never see my son, I will kill you first, she thought.

Chapter 13

Sören was standing at his office window, admiring the view of the Kalmar castle against the frosty morning sun. It was the middle of September now and days were noticeably getting cooler. He loved the castle, had always loved it. Its history stretched back over 800 years. During the 12th century a defense tower was erected to protect against pirates and other sea-faring enemies. A harbour was constructed and in the course of time a castle grew around the original tower.  Nowadays the castle hosted various events, like concerts, dinners and banquets and fairs. And of course it was always possible to just simply visit and wander the rooms of the exhibition.

Kalmar had the makings of a big city, it was a bustling centre of commerce, and yet retained its old worldly charm and small town intimacy. An intimacy Sören had wanted to escape from when he was younger.

Kalmar was, as ever, surrounded by water. Few cities could boast of a natural beach so close to the city centre. It was unique and it was beautiful to him.

Lately he had been spending a lot of time gazing out of windows, lost in daydreaming. Surely that was a bad sign, but for what? Middle age or discontentment or the opposite? He really couldn´t say. He supposed he could rule out middle-age, since he wasn´t even in his mid thirties yet and he didn´t feel the least bit discontent.

He had gotten rid of Anna as soon as possible.

They had talked through her business plan and when she had asked him out to lunch, he had graciously declined and she had understood that she had only been one-night stand for him. He hoped she wasn´t desperate or clingy, because he had had his fare share of bad experiences with hysterical, love- sick women. One had once put an axe through the windshield of his brand new Aston Martin. Women really knew how to hurt you and that had really hurt.

An axe for God´s sake. That had been in London.

He had sold the car when he moved back to Öland. There was just no way you could be respected and liked by Ölanders and drive yourself around in an Aston Martin. People just wouldn´t have it, unless you were King Gustav, who was regularly spotted in the summer driving his Ferrari or one of his other sports cars around the island. It was also acceptable if you were a Stockholmare, meaning someone from Stockholm, who had a summer house on the island, but spent most of the year in Stockholm. But for him as someone who lived there permanently, it was just not on. People would think he was an idiot for spending that much money on a car and they would probably be right.

God, he hoped Clarice was still there when he got home and Per Nielson had miraculously died of a heart attack.

Chapter 14

Clarice was having an unusually long day at the university. Normally she was only there to deliver her lectures followed by a bit of a question and answer session with the students and some more detailed follow up discussions in her office. She preferred doing all her paper work and research at home.  She really didn´t like being around so many people all the time, it made her nervous and restless.

And she hated long, boring meetings spiked with unnecessary detailed discussions about issues that didn´t really concern her. But she had noticed that Swedish people loved boring, prolonged meetings and discussing every point on the agenda to death.

Due to her little scene with Sören that morning she had missed breakfast and since she hated canteen food she had skipped lunch too, thinking she would be going home soon and would cook something there. This was a relic from her past. She had grown up learning to cherish good food. Which was why she was always happy to join Sören at any given meal he invited her to share with him, because Nanna was an excellent cook.

And she also enjoyed his company, but would rather hack of her right hand before admitting this to anyone but herself. Clarice was a very accomplished cook too but since she lived alone and never invited anyone home, her cooking skills had remained as yet undetected by anyone who knew her. That was fine with her.

So she had been packing up and just about to leave when the department secretary had informed her about the meeting with the other faculty members.

“Shit” she had thought, rather uncharacteristically, since she rarely cursed, “Now I´m going to have to get something from the canteen.”

She had bought herself a prawn sandwich, which the woman in the canteen had to prepare freshly for her, since the lunch time crowd had already been and gone and prawn sandwiches were very popular. Preparing the sandwich took an unduly long time, but Clarice was used to this by now. Swiftness of service was not a common thing anywhere outside of Stockholm. When she had first moved to Kalmar she had paid a visit to McDonalds. All she had wanted was a cappuccino to go, since she never ate fast food. The place had been packed but the staff behind the counter had carried on serving people at their usual calm and unhurried pace and Clarice had waited in line a good thirty minutes before she was served. What had fascinated her most was that not a single person in the seemingly endless queue complained. Everyone had just stood patiently and quietly in line until it was their time to be served. Clarice had visited many countries where the slowness of the staff would have resulted in a riot. But this was Sweden and slow service was a way of life.

Clarice was eventually presented with a prawn sandwich and prepared for a long afternoon locked up in the faculty meeting room. As expected every point on the seemingly endless agenda was magnified from every angle and her mind began to wander. Usually she was always caught up in her work, pondering mathematical theories while giving the impression of being an avid listener. Today her mind kept going back to Rettinge and her little home there. She loved the gård and she loved Vickleby, it was the most beautiful place she had ever lived in. Well, maybe not ever, but for a long time anyway. And she had lived in quite a lot of places in the past few years, never staying long. As soon as people got too close or inquisitive she had packed up and left. She hadn´t even always been employed in her line of work, which meant academic work. Once she had worked at a Vineyard in the south of Germany, picking grapes and generally helping with the busy time of autumn harvesting. She knew about wine, another relic from her past.

Sören was not inquisitive and neither were any of the other people on the gård. Swedish people were in general not inquisitive. They liked to keep to themselves.

And that suited her very well.

Sören had instinctively known when to stop asking questions. And Tilda, Magnus and Alma were too wrapped up in their own life to be bothered about Clarice.

She thought about Tilda and her little son. She had grown very fond of the little chap. He was adorable with his shock of brown hair and those glasses. He looked like the little professor.  She liked children because they took everything in their stride and always lived in the present with no concept of tomorrow. And they soaked up information like a sponge.

She knew that Tilda was a little weary of her and didn´t quite know what to make of Clarice and of course she had this huge minority complex, because she was just a cleaning lady.

Clarice didn´t give a toss about anyone´s line of work as long as they were good people and didn´t intrude on her life. She actually liked and admired Tilda.

Sören had filled her in on the sorry details of Tilda´s life and considering what she had gone through, she was holding up really well and doing a great job on the kid.

At least Clarice had had a happy and privileged childhood, regardless of what had happened later. She wished that horrid old man, Tilda´s father would just go up in smoke. He was a real pest; if not for him life on Rettinge would be perfect.

Chapter 15

When Sören returned from work in the evening he was really tired, almost exhausted.

The unusually persistent economic crisis had taken its toll on everyone and he couldn´t exclude himself from the general feeling of insecurity and apprehension every employer and employee was going through. His clients were nervous and unwilling to part with large chunks of money right now and uneasy about bigger investments. It took a lot of diplomatic smooth talking on his part to hold everything together. He turned right into Rettinge, passed Tilda´s and Clarice´s houses and his heart stopped. Her car was not there. She was not home and she was always home by this time. She never went anywhere, so where the hell was she? He got out of the car , walked over to her house and knocked. Nothing happened. He looked through the window, but since she had brought no personal items with her, the look of the place didn´t really give him any clue, whether she still lived there or not. Had she packed up and booked a one way ticket to Brazil never to be seen again, as he had always feared she might? Strangely enough he felt a little scared. He knew nothing about her, he wouldn´t know how to find her, if she had left. Should he ask Tilda if she had seen Clarice leave with a suitcase and risk looking like a fool?

Maybe she was just working late, but surely lectures where during the day? Students needed time to party in the evening, right? There were no lectures in the evening? Maybe she had had an accident, perhaps he should he call the police? But he had just come from Kalmar. There was only one route you could take over from Kalmar to Rettinge and he would have noticed her car on the road. At least that flip chart which she used to write her strange string theories on was still there. It was covered with a lot of numbers and letters and mathematical signs, which was all mumble jumble to him, but obviously meant something to her. She had once attempted to explain just the basics of what she constantly occupied herself with to him and he had pretended to understand. Except that he hadn´t, not a single word. His mind had shut down after Clarice had lectured him that force meaning earth gravity equals mass times 9.5 or 9.8 per second, ergo ma equals mg or something. He couldn´t remember and he would never ask again, unless he had the masochistic urge of wanting to feel really, really stupid.

Jesus, he needed a shower and he needed to eat and he needed a drink and then he would decide what to do about Clarice, if she hadn´t shown up by then.

Chapter 16

After dinner she had still not come home. He should ring the university. What faculty dealt with theoretical physics? What if she wasn´t there? Oh hell, this was ridiculous; he was a grown man, a successful man. And he was pacing around his own house, looking out of the window every few minutes, waiting for her to appear, like a love-sick teenager, or a jealous psychopath. Was she with a man? Did she have a boyfriend?

Someone from the university maybe?

Okay, he had to stop this right now or he really would turn into one of those creeps who hijacked young women and kept them prisoner in their basement for endless periods of time.

If she didn´t come back, she didn´t come back. He would survive; he had a life to live. He had lived without her before, hadn´t he? And he hadn´t been unhappy, so what had changed?

Everything, he knew that now.

There - he heard a car.

He looked outside. Yes it was her.

He felt immensely relieved. He would go over there right now and ask her what the hell she thought she was doing coming home at this late hour.

He walked over and knocked on her door. She had only just come in herself, so she opened at once.

“Hi”, she said.

“Where have you been?” Sören demanded to know.

“Excuse me?”

“Where have you been, why did you come home so late. I didn´t know where you were, you could have called, you know.”

Clarice was nonplussed. Was this really normal behavior for a landlord? She looked behind her, just to make sure that Sören was really talking to her and not some other person standing behind her. But of course there was no one there.

“Er, I wasn´t aware that I needed to justify my whereabouts to you or keep you informed about my timetable,” she said snootily.

Sören bristled at that, “Oh to hell with that. And don´t use that snooty tone of voice on me, it doesn´t suit you. You never go anywhere, you never have anyone here, you always come home the same time every day and then all of sudden you come home late, so where were you?”

“You know Sören, there was always something I wanted to ask you.”

“What?”

“Are you nuts?”

Now he was really annoyed.

“You think I´m nuts because I worry about you? Why did you come home so late? Were you with a man, is that it? You can tell me you know and then...well then I´ll know.”

Clarice was starting to feel a little more than irritated herself now, “Well, call me King sensitive of the year, but you didn´t seem that worried about me this morning did you? After you spent the night with Stick Insect. You told me in not so many words to stay away from the house and from you.”

“I never said that.”

“Well, I must have misinterpreted your words then. So when you said “don´t walk around here like you’re the lady of the manor and don´t talk to me anymore”, you really meant “I care and worry about you?” That´s quite a complex code you´ve got going there, Sören, do you always say exactly the opposite of what you feel?”

“I was angry with you, I admit that. But I never told you not to talk to me anymore and why am I standing here defending myself? You were out of order then, I know it and you know it and now I want to know where you have been tonight.”

“None of your business,” Clarice answered curtly.

He was stunned, “Excuse me? What? None of my business? You have been sticking your nose into my business all the time ever since you moved in. You walk in and out of my house at your pleasure and you know, that´s fine, I actually like that, because I like you. You have gotten heaps of information out of me about my life, my interests, my past relationships, and my business. Anything you wanted to know I have told you and what have I gotten from you? Nothing, zero, zilch. And I haven´t been intrusive. I accepted that there is something, some unprocessed trauma in your past that makes it impossible for you to share personal details with anyone and you will run away from anyone or anything that forces you into confronting that trauma. But there is a limit to my patience and now I want to know where you have been and I am not leaving before you tell me.”

Clarice was speechless. Speechless because everything he had said was true. He understood her a lot better than she thought he did.

The door of Tilda´s house opened.

“Um, I´m sorry to interrupt, but Oscar just woke up. You´ve been kind of loud, you know shouting at each other and everything. Could you turn it down a bit, maybe?”

They both turned to stare at her. Neither had been aware of shouting.

Tilda bit her lip and said “Um, okay then, goodnight.” She went back inside.

There was a brief silence, and then Clarice said very quietly, “I was at the university.”

“In the evening?”

“I had a meeting. A very long meeting. I have to attend meetings now and again, you know. I am part of the faculty. And you Swedish people like long, boring, democratic discussions.”

“Yes, I know. Alright, that´s alright then. I just wanted to know. I really was worried, you know and I do care about you a lot. I think you should know that. Please don´t pack your bags and run away, I want you to stay. You will stay, won´t you?”

 “Yes.”

 “Good, that´s good.”

 “Good night Sören.”

“Good night.”

He turned to leave, but then changed his mind, bent down and gave her a gentle, lingering kiss on the cheek.

Clarice felt a shiver run down her back.

“See you tomorrow then.”

He left; she closed the door and leaned against it. Yikes, this was getting too close for comfort. Why couldn´t he be an old, fat, ugly lord of the manor? Why did he have to be so understanding and insightful and so good looking?

“What to do, what to do?”

Nothing, that was the answer, she would do nothing and just let things take its stride.

Like Oscar.

Chapter 17

Gunhild woke in the middle of the night. She was sure she had heard something, some sort of noise, like there was someone in the house. She was a light sleeper, always had been. She got up and checked on Eric. He was alright, sleeping soundly. She checked all the other rooms. Not that there were that many, it was a small apartment. No, she must have dreamed or heard something outside. So she went back to bed and slept soundly till her alarm clock shrilled. She prepared breakfast for herself and Eric in the kitchen, as she did every morning. She looked at the clock. He´s going to be late if I don´t wake him soon, she thought. He probably forgot to set his alarm clock last night. The alarm clock had been a birthday present from Tilda. It was a huge, blue thing with two big arms, which had hands at the end of them. Eric loved the clock and made a ceremony of setting it every night himself. Gunhild went to his room and opened the blinds.

“Come on sleepyhead, time to get up. You´ll be late for school.”

He didn´t move.

“Eric, breakfast is ready.”

Eric still didn´t move.

“Rise and shine, another day full of adventures is waiting.” Slightly alarmed now she moved over to his bed.

He still didn´t move.

She reached out and touched him.

He was ice cold.

She screamed, she shook him, screamed his name, again and again, she held him to her, sobbing uncontrollably.

But Eric did not move.

The rational part of her brain that was still working knew that he was dead, but her heart refused to accept this.

He would wake up again, if she only screamed loud enough.

Chapter 18

Tilda was busy doing her laundry, when the phone rang.

It was someone from Eric´s school. Eric had not turned up for school that morning and they could not reach anyone at her mother´s house. Did Tilda know if anything had happened?

But Tilda knew of no reason why Eric shouldn´t be in school and her mother was very conscientious where Eric´s schooling was concerned. If he was sick she would have most certainly have called it in. I have to go and do some shopping in Färjestaden anyway, she thought. I´ll drop by her flat on my way.

She took the scenic route to Färjestaden, with the Alvaret on the right side of her and the pretty old windmills on the other. Tilda loved Öland and couldn´t bear to live anywhere else. She supposed it would have made sense to move, to get away from her father and bad memories, but she would miss the island and she wanted Oscar to grow up here. She couldn´t imagine a better place for a child to grow up than the island. In her opinion it had everything. The sea, the beautiful barren landscape, seclusion and quietness if that´s what one wanted. And yet its nearness to Kalmar ensured access to a bustling town and all its distractions.

She stopped in front of her mother´s building and rang the bell. There was no answer. She tried to reach Gunhild on her mobile, but again no one answered. She rang a neighbour´s bell and explained who she was and why she was there. The neighbor knew her of course and let her in. Tilda rang the bell of her mother´s apartment door.

Nothing. She knocked, and then knocked again.

She was just about to leave, when she thought she heard something from inside, but no one came to the door.

Tilda was suddenly caught by a strange sense of foreboding. She opened her handbag and rooted around for her own key to her mother´s apartment but could not find it. How strange. She never took that key out, it was always in her handbag. She must have dropped it somewhere.

Now what to do?

Then she remembered that the owner of the house lived only a few houses away. He had keys to all the apartments. She would go there and ask him for the key.

The owner of the apartment block, a rather thick set man in his seventies, insisted on going with her to open the door to Gunhild´s apartment. She didn´t know whether he was afraid she would lose his key, too or whether he thought she wanted to steal something from her mother´s apartment.  In any case he didn´t seem to trust her with his key.

Tilda opened the door. For a moment they both stood still and listened.  There were little whimpering sounds coming from her brother´s room. Tilda quickly went, flung the bedroom door open and froze.

Her mother was on the floor with a lifeless Eric in her arms. She had her head buried in his chest and Tilda didn´t need to touch Eric to know he was dead.

He was like a ragdoll in her mother´s arms. Her mother was quietly whimpering into  Eric´s chest and didn´t notice Tilda in the room.

Tilda knelt down and touched her mother and tried to get her to look at her. But her mother didn´t respond, didn´t even look up. She was completely listless and didn´t seem to want to let go of Eric. Tilda spoke to her urgently, tried to get her to let go of Eric, even tried to pull her away, at which her mother lashed out at her and held on to her brother even tighter. The landlord stood frozen in the doorway. Whatever he had been expecting, he hadn´t been expecting this. Tears running down her own face now, Tilda did the only thing she could think of and phoned the police.

Chapter 19

Clarice was just about to grab her car keys and head for the door when the phone rang.

Who the hell could that be? Basically she only got calls from work or from people trying to sell her something. She picked up. It was Tilda, that was unusual. And there was something wrong with her voice. She sounded like someone who had a bad cold. And then Clarice realized she was crying. “Tilda, what happened? What´s wrong, is it Oscar?”

Oh, please don´t let it be Oscar, Clarice prayed silently.

“No, Clarice, it´s my brother”, Tilda sobbed, “He´s dead, he died in his sleep. I visited my mother this morning and found her by the side of his bed holding him and she wouldn´t let him go. I called the police, I didn´t know what else to do.”

Clarice was sincerely shocked. “Oh God, Tilda, how awful. I´m so sorry.”

“Clarice, can you pick Oscar up from the dagis today? It’s just that I can´t leave my mother alone here, but I don´t want to bring Oscar here either, because everything is such chaos right now. I´m sorry, but I have no one else to ask.”

”Tilda, don´t worry about a thing. I´ll cancel my afternoon lectures and look after him all day if you like, until you come home. You just take care of your mother.”

“Thank you Clarice, that´s very good of you.”

Clarice immediately phoned the university and cancelled her lectures for the day. When the time came she picked Oscar up from his dagis and tried to answer his curious questions about the whereabouts of his mother as truthfully as she could. She never had a problem keeping him entertained. In fact she enjoyed playing with him almost as much as he did. “Wow, Clarice, you´re really good at memory, Mama isn´t so good, I always beat her,” Oscar said admiringly.

Memory was actually one of the games Clarice least like to play, because it was so hard for her not to win all the time. She had a photographic memory and could of course memorize the position of all the cards instantly. But that would be really boring and frustrating for Oscar, so half the time she had to act like she couldn´t remember where the cards were and pretend to turn over the wrong cards. And she had to be convincing, because children noticed when you were trying to lose on purpose. But apparently she was doing a great job of it.

They had played three rounds already, apart from painting pictures together, building a flashlight and talking a walk to the ostrich enclosure.

Even Clarice was slowly running out of ideas. “Oscar, how about we go and see Nanna in the big house? Maybe she´s baked something nice today, like a chocolate cake or something?”, she suggested.

“Oh, yes, lovely. I love chocolate cake.”

“Well, I don´t know if she baked chocolate cake but she usually bakes something.”

So they had made their way over to the big house and Nanna had been very pleased to see them. She and Oscar had immediately set about baking a tray of muffins.

Chapter 20

Sören came home earlier than usual. He had brought work home with him rather than stay in the office longer.

He made his way to the kitchen, as he usually did when he came home, to say hello to Nanna and to see what was for dinner. When he was alone he preferred to have dinner in the cozy interior of the kitchen and not in the dining room. He and Nanna had designed the kitchen together.

Nanna had been mostly focused on the functional part and he had mostly focused on the design. Sören had wanted a hypermodern, sleek kitchen, but soon realized that a very modern, minimalistic style was not really compatible with the old style of the house. So he had decided on a Scandinavian modern country style look, which was basically the interior design pattern for the rest of the house, too. The kitchen boasted a genuine English Aga stove and a cooking island with a huge stainless steel cooker head hovering above which made it look like a little temple in the middle of the room.

To his pleasant surprise Clarice was there, sharing a pot of tea with Nanna at the huge massive oak table which Sören had bought at an auction in Stockholm. He had placed Charles Eames white plastic side chairs with chrome legs around it. He loved combining the old and worn with the modern. The table stood in a glass annex which had been added as an extension to the kitchen only the year before.

He smiled broadly and was about to say something, when he noticed their faces. They both looked serious and somehow distressed. “Hey, what´s with the serious faces? What have I done now?” he asked jokingly.

“Oh Sören”, Nanna said, “It´s so sad, something terrible has happened. Eric, Gunhild´s boy has died. He died in his sleep and she found him this morning.”

Sören sat down heavily and drew a hand over his face. For a long moment he was quiet, then looked up and said, “That´s really very sad. The poor woman. He was her world. She must be devastated.”

“Yes”, Clarice said, “She is. Tilda rang me this morning. She found Gunhild in Eric´s bedroom holding him and refusing to let him go. It must have been heartbreaking. She asked me to pick Oscar up and look after him today.”

Sören looked around, “Where is he now, Oscar, I mean?”

“He´s watching Bolibompa in your TV room.”

Bolipompa was a classic children´s TV program. I had been running forever, even Sören had watched it as a child. Sören nodded. That was good.

“That boy was a real enrichment to her life, I´ve never seen her as happy as she was these past few years while she was living alone with Eric. And she deserved some happiness and now that´s been taken from her too. Why do some people have it so hard?”he asked

“I don´t know Sören, nobody can answer that.”

“No, but if there is a guy up there with a master plan, you´ve got to ask yourself what the hell he´s thinking.”

 Clarice shook her head, “There is no guy with a master plan and for a lack of a better name we might as well call him God. There is no God, there is no heaven or hell and there is no life after death.”

“Careful, Clarice”, Sören warned her, “You´re not exactly making yourself popular with Nanna here, right now.”

“Oh no, that´s alright, Sören,” Nanna said, “Clarice explained everything to me, she believes in evolution, not the bible. Everyone has a right to their opinion.”

Clarice wanted to tell her that evolution was not part of a belief system and it wasn´t an opinion either, it was a fact. But she didn´t. She instinctively felt that being on the wrong side of Nanna was not a good thing.

“Wow, I didn´t realize the two of you have such deep, existential conversations. I´m impressed,” Sören said.

“Oh, but we do. All the time”, Nanna answered quite seriously.

Everyone went quiet again until Sören said reminiscently,

“I remember the Skördefest last year. Eric was going round and round on the carousel and he had a great big candy floss in his hand. He looked kind of comical, because he was actually a little too big for the carousel but he was enjoying himself so much. I was sitting at one of the tables eating my pumpkin soup and watching him and Gunhild. Every time he went round he´d wave at her madly and she´d wave back. Every time! And he went round many times and I remember thinking, she´s going to be standing there all day waving and her arm will fall off. I don´t know how many times he went round on that carousel. He was having so much fun.“

Tears welled up in his eyes, he wiped them away.

“Shit, what a fucking shitty thing to happen.”

And for once Nanna didn´t clip him on the back of his head, like she usually did when he used bad language. Instead she got up and hugged him.

Clarice was touched by his tears.

She covered his hand with hers, „You’re right, it is a really crappy thing to happen and nothing is going to make it better.”

Oscar came wandering in, “Hello, Mr. Sören.”

Sören turned to him, “Well, hello little man. This is a nice surprise, I haven´t seen you for ages. You never call, you never write.”

Oscar gave him a puzzled look. Sören pulled the boy onto his lap. “So what have you been doing all day?”

“First I was at the dagis. Then Clarice picked me up, because Mama has to be with grandma, she´s not well. Clarice and I played in her house and then she showed me how to make a torch without any batteries. Just a coin and a light bulb and wires, but no batteries, Mr. Sören, no batteries, isn´t that cool?”

“Very cool.”

“And then we came here and baked muffins with Nanna.”

“Muffins, you baked muffins? Where are the muffins?” Sören looked left and right, “Where are they? I love muffins, I want one.”

Nanna gave him a stern look, “You can have a muffin after your dinner, young man.”

“Yes, maam”, Sören said. Clarice smiled.

“When is Mama coming back, Clarice?”

“Oh Oscar I don´t know. Your granny is really in a bad way. Maybe you will have to spend the night at my house.”

“But you have no extra bed.”

“No, but we can share my bed. It´s quite big and you don´t need much room, do you?”

Can I stay, too? Sören wanted to ask

He said, “You know he can stay here, we´ve got loads of bedrooms. In fact you can both stay here, if Oscar is more comfortable with you around, Clarice.”

“Oh cool”, Oscar clapped his hands. “I always wanted to stay in the big house.”

She could hardly refuse now, could she?

Clarice hesitated but then said,

“Well, alright then, I´ll just go over and fetch my things.” “Sure, you do that.”

And just then the front door rang, Nanna looked out of the window, “It´s Tilda, looks like you won´t be staying the night after all, Oscar.”

Oscar didn´t care though. His  Mama was there, that was all that mattered.

He ran into her arms. “Mama, Mama, I made a torch today with Clarice and we baked muffins, but I´m glad you´re here now. Can we go home, now?”

“Yes, darling, just a minute. “

Sören came towards her and embraced her warmly, “Tilda, I´m so sorry, really sorry. How is your mother?”

“She´s not so great. The doctor gave her a sedative, to calm her down. She´s at my place now, sleeping. It was just awful, the police were there, an ambulance, medics, the doctor and my mother just wouldn´t let go of Eric and the doctor had to examine him and write the death certificate, so in the end they sort of had to wrench him from her arms and she screamed and collapsed on the floor and just lay there crying and it was just terrible. And then they took Eric away on a stretcher with a blanket over his face.”