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  Kerstin smiled to herself and made the decision she had been tussling with for such a long time.

  Jeanette was forgiven.

  65

  Sandra

  AN HOUR LATER, she was still sitting there with her eyes glued to the faded picture of her childhood idols. She was unable to move, incapable of forming coherent thoughts, and she didn’t have it in her to face her parents. She wanted to be left alone with her torments, wanted to be able to turn on the waterworks at any time without an audience. But she wasn’t even capable of crying. She was sitting there seemingly paralysed into silence—all she could hear were the seconds dragging by on her wristwatch.

  Until the quiet was disturbed by the rattle of her mobile on the nightstand.

  Then a stream of elusive events that she would never remember clearly or be able to return to. Sandra answering out of habit in a flat, indifferent voice. The kind voice telling her that Erik had been found and was alive—he was on his way to Visby General Hospital. Sandra, unable to assimilate any further information, already on her feet before the call was over, grabbing things that might be needed during the coming night. She tore through the house, brought her sorrow-stricken parents back to life, and suddenly the house was filled with light and sound and movement. And joy that knew no bounds, that could no longer be contained out of fear for the consequences and aftermath. Because what was the point in worrying about the future when the miracle was happening here and now?

  66

  Kerstin

  EVENTUALLY, THE AMBULANCE arrived. There was nothing wrong with their directions, it turned out. Apparently, they had opted for an air ambulance, realised it was impossible to land anywhere nearby and instead dispatched an ordinary vehicle all the way from Visby. It took forty minutes from their call until the paramedics arrived and took over.

  Kerstin explained that the boy had been cold when they had found him, but that the temperature in the small body had since risen, and that his breathing now seemed substantially more stable. She also explained that they had managed to get him to take fluids drop by drop, but that he had probably been drinking rainwater over the preceding days and that hunger would probably be the bigger issue. The ambulance crew listened with great interest, and both women were treated respectfully in light of their actions.

  That quickly changed with the arrival of the police. They had their routine down pat and knew who was upstanding and who wasn’t—perhaps they actually recognised the two women from less flattering circumstances. Kerstin in particular—but also Jeanette to some extent—was met with nothing but suspicious looks.

  Their statements were questioned, as were their motives for being at the scene at all. Which was entirely justified, it had to be added, given that their original purpose for visiting was decidedly dubious. But they stood their ground and told the story about the mysterious visitor several times without once getting the impression that what they had to say was being noted.

  How had they got into the cabin? They had found the key on the ledge above the door. Just like that? Yes, the law of necessity—the break-in itself was surely excusable given that they had saved the life of a child. Someone had clearly locked the kid into the root cellar and had then come out here just to undo the bolt? Yes, that was how it seemed. And this someone was driving a car? Yes, a blue car—an Audi at a guess. What about the driver—man or woman? Impossible to say; they had both been squirreled away in their hiding places and had seen almost nothing. Why had they hidden if they had nothing to hide? Well, they did have something to hide since they had trespassed on someone else’s property and didn’t want to be discovered.

  Not even the fuzzy picture that Kerstin had managed to take of what she wanted to believe was a blue Audi and its driver was taken seriously by the police. Pulling the wool over their eyes, they said—and why on earth had she even taken the picture? Had she already had a feeling that something wasn’t right before everything else happened? And wasn’t it actually the case that they themselves had held the boy captive, and had now at long last decided to release him? No, no, and no again. Then they would hardly have done what they had done, and they would definitely have abandoned the scene before the ambulance arrived.

  No one wanted to hear that angle. Kerstin did what she could to defend her own and Jeanette’s behaviour. Everything they said was received with scepticism, but then they were navigating through a thicket of half-truths and lies. And their own appearance counted against them. Kerstin was marked forever by the life she had led, Jeanette not so much—but the glassy-eyed uncertainty in her appearance and the fact that she was in the company of Kerstin told its own, clear story. Neither of them could be taken seriously, no matter how great a role they had played in the recovery and rescue of the boy.

  However, eventually they were allowed to go, under strict instructions that they should stay at home while they were the subject of further inquiries. Two chastened castaways trotted downheartedly towards their bikes in the woods. They pulled away the branches, tore off the plastic and threw it to one side. They checked the contents of the two holdalls and their eyes met in a smile, before they each slung a bag over their shoulders and cycled away from what had become a crime scene. Six million kronor richer.

  IT WAS ONLY once they were on the bus with their hands clasped around the bags that Kerstin noticed that the expression on Jeanette’s face had changed. Despite the harassment from the police, there had been an air of exhilaration about her entire being since they had found the boy—a feather-lightness to her movements. Kerstin interpreted it as a form of redress—that Jeanette had been vindicated in her own self-perception. She had contributed to a big, important event: a child’s life had been saved, and Jeanette had been involved. Not all children died in her arms—this time she had been able to do something and she had done it, too. And with remarkable decisiveness and command.

  But now the darkness had crept back over her—the hollowness in her gaze had returned and Kerstin didn’t understand why. She tried to read her facial expressions and patterns of movement to discover what was going on inside her, but Jeanette turned her back to her and directed her gaze out of the window. Kerstin was tempted to put her hand onto Jeanette’s and ask how she was feeling, but she thought that could wait until she shifted position and wasn’t making it quite so clear that she wanted to be left in peace with her thoughts.

  Around ten minutes passed, and Kerstin could feel the anxiety spreading through her body. Now and then, she glanced at Jeanette but without getting the response she was looking for. Judging by her breathing, she was still awake, yet she didn’t make the slightest motion to seek contact. They were a duo now—they had surpassed themselves and not only found the money but also saved Erik’s life—what had gone awry? The thoughts continued to grind away in Kerstin’s head, and the situation began to feel unbearable.

  She followed the contours of Jeanette with her gaze, her finely shaped ear and the hair, which, despite being wet and tangled, still fell so beautifully around her face. Her slender arm in the anorak, the bend at the elbow, and the forearm resting on the big bag. The small white hand peeping out from the sleeve and the vicelike grip on . . . Well, on what exactly?

  The luggage tag on the bag. On one of the holdalls that Karl-Erik had taken from home when he had gone to the mainland to collect the loot from the robbery.

  She quickly examined her own bag and noticed it was missing a tag. Surely it couldn’t be that . . .? What if it was clear from the name tag Jeanette was clutching who the bag had once belonged to? It couldn’t be that—not now that everything was going so well for Jeanette, now that they had managed to do something absolutely incredible together, and everything had been forgiven and almost forgotten.

  She carefully took Jeanette’s hand between her own. It was limp and didn’t move. Jeanette didn’t react to being touched. Kerstin prised the name tag from her hand and detached it from the bag. She examined the business card behind the plastic window—the one that belo
nged to a child minder called Kerstin Barbenius, which included not only her contact details but also a photograph of her in profile. She sighed deeply and sank back resignedly in her seat.

  She had to handle this in a balanced and carefully considered way. She had to set aside all her hurtful thoughts—all the bitterness and intolerance. What she was going to offer was tolerance for human weakness, understanding, and the power of forgiveness. And surely that couldn’t be so hard, given that was all she had left?

  “Jen,” she said cautiously. “It’s okay.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Jeanette said. “It’s anything but okay. Now I know where the name Barbamama comes from. Nanna. If only I’d checked up on that sooner, we wouldn’t have ended up here. We wouldn’t have had to deal with each other at all.”

  “It didn’t cross my mind that there would be a name tag on the bag with a photo of me on it. You have to believe me. I really didn’t want you . . .”

  “Me to know? Me to find out who you are?”

  For a moment, it crossed her mind that Jeanette might actually be upset at having been hoodwinked—that she had been tricked into telling her life story to Kerstin in particular, the only person who definitely couldn’t be allowed to find out. But she dismissed those thoughts and continued to pursue her soft approach.

  “No, actually, I didn’t. I wanted to spare you that. I didn’t consciously keep my real name a secret from you, but today wasn’t exactly . . .”

  “Spare me?” Jeanette interrupted, turning to Kerstin with shiny eyes. “Me? You must hate me.”

  “Why?” Kerstin asked.

  “When I told you about my own part in that accident—you must have wanted to kill me there and then.”

  “I’m not inclined that way,” Kerstin said truthfully.

  “But why didn’t you say anything?”

  “What was I supposed to say?” said Kerstin. “I was taken completely off guard. I had to gather my thoughts and decide how to act around you.”

  “And what was your conclusion?” Jeanette asked.

  “That both of us are only human. That you didn’t take on your role in that saga on purpose, that you were a victim of circumstance—even if you should have taken greater responsibility in the situation. And that you have regretted it every moment since it happened. That’s good enough for me.”

  Jeanette looked at her mistrustfully. Her eyes were brimming with tears.

  “Sorry,” she said reaching out with her hand and placing it in Kerstin’s. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I know,” said Kerstin. “But I want you to be happy now. I thought you were going to be once we had found Erik. That you were on the way to reconciling yourself with it. And that made me very happy. I don’t want all of that to crumble just because there happened to be a name tag with my photo attached to one of the bags.”

  “But what I’ve done to you,” said Jeanette. “It’s dreadful. How am I supposed to live with that?”

  “Look at it the other way around,” Kerstin suggested. “Accept that fate brought us together and that it was the best thing that could have happened. Now you’ve had the chance to explain yourself and apologise, and I’ve realised how what happened could have come to pass, I’ve processed my trauma and forgiven you.”

  Jeanette looked at her, eyes filled with tears.

  “Have you really?” she said. “Forgiven me?”

  Kerstin nodded and squeezed Jeanette’s hand.

  “How is that even possible?”

  Kerstin shrugged her shoulders.

  “You have to make the best of the situation,” she said. “What’s done is done and can’t be changed. You feeling like shit doesn’t make me feel better—quite the opposite, in fact. You’re my friend, a person I care about. And you’ve punished yourself harder than I ever could have. Or would have wanted to. It’s for the best—I’d like us to put it behind us.”

  Jeanette scrutinised her through her tears. She didn’t seem entirely able to take in Kerstin’s words.

  “We’re the heroes of the hour, you and me,” Kerstin said with a smile. “I could tell you were proud of yourself—for the first time ever, I think. Satisfied with what you had achieved. It was great to see. Can’t you hold on to that feeling? Accept that all the terrible things that happened four years ago are over, turn the page, and look forward to a new future?”

  Kerstin thought she glimpsed a tiny smile in Jeanette’s eyes—at least she wanted to believe that was what she could see. Jeanette took a deep breath and shut her eyes. They sat in silence for the remainder of the journey.

  LATER ON WHEN they dropped the bags off at Kerstin’s flat, she asked Jeanette whether she wanted to stay for a while so that they could talk, drink, eat, or anything else—celebrate, quite simply. But Jeanette declined.

  “Don’t do this to me,” Kerstin begged. “Don’t take away my one cause for rejoicing in this life.”

  “Your cause for rejoicing?” Jeanette said, dumbfounded.

  “I’ve reconciled myself with the thought of what happened. You should too—I’m asking you to. Don’t let an old business card ruin both our lives, now that things are shaping up so nicely.”

  Jeanette looked at her for a long time. Her eyes were vacant—the gaze contained nothing that gave away what was going on inside. Jeanette had shut herself off, and Kerstin wasn’t welcome inside.

  “How I feel has nothing to do with you,” Jeanette said coolly.

  Kerstin, who didn’t want to burden Jeanette with any more guilt, still felt compelled to refer backwards. She had to say something.

  “If your mental well-being depends on my name and my picture being on that baggage tag, then surely it’s got something to do with me? I say that what happened four years ago is in the past. I say you’re forgiven, that your actions today have atoned for the bad choices you made then. Don’t you see how lucky you are to know me—you’ve had the chance to explain yourself and apologise and be forgiven?”

  Jeanette studied her with her blank gaze and inscrutable expression. Kerstin felt hopelessly excluded from Jeanette’s thoughts, and somewhat desperate for acknowledgment. Not so much for her own sake as for Jeanette’s—she needed to get her to see the person Kerstin. Not the phenomenon—the widow, the heartrending cry from the past. Sisters of misfortune, as it were. Only then could she help her out of the abyss where she seemed to find herself at present.

  “Doesn’t that mean something?” Kerstin battled on. “Would you have preferred to carry on being depressed on your own, looking for penance on your side without it ever doing the victim any good?”

  Jeanette didn’t drop her eyes from Kerstin, but she didn’t answer either. There was something about her demeanour that made Kerstin think she was on her way out.

  “We’ve done something big today, Jen. You and me, together. Stay and we’ll celebrate. We’ve earned it.”

  “What are you going to do with the money?” Jeanette asked, seemingly altogether uninterested in everything Kerstin had said.

  “Give it to the police,” Kerstin replied.

  “Why didn’t we do that out at the hunting cabin then?”

  “It would have been taken the wrong way—we would have fallen under suspicion.”

  “Oh really,” Jeanette said indifferently.

  “You’re pushing me away, Jen. Why can’t we talk?”

  No visible reaction—in Jeanette’s world there was only room for Jeanette.

  “I’m going now,” she said.

  “Do you really have to? You could sleep over.”

  But Jeanette shook her head and began to go down the stairs.

  “I’ll walk you home,” Kerstin said.

  “No, you won’t. Don’t be so bloody clingy.”

  That hurt. Wounded her. Clingy—that wasn’t a good thing to be. Almost anything was better than that.

  “Okay,” said Kerstin, swallowing hard. “Take care of yourself, sweetheart. And I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Jeanette raised her
hand without looking her in the eye and vanished round the corner as she went down the stairs. Kerstin continued to stand there until she heard the street door slam.

  67

  Sandra

  MANY HOURS LATER, when darkness descended on the town and those activities that didn’t stop altogether took on more cautious and low-key modes of expression, she found herself sitting in the darkened hospital room with Erik’s hand held in hers. They were alone together for the first time, and he was sleeping deeply and peacefully while a solution of nutrients and antibiotics was fed straight into his small body through an insertion in the crook of his arm.

  Everything was going to be okay. They had promised her that: there were no physical injuries, the malnutrition would soon be dealt with, and any infections had been nipped in the bud. He was warm and safe, no longer subject to thirst or hunger. He would see a psychologist, but given his young age, poor grasp of time, and the diffuse memories he had expressed, the whole thing would hopefully vanish into a blurry haze. He had woken up from a nightmare, but so long as no one dug too deeply and reinforced those impressions, he would forget about it all soon enough.

  All Erik could remember was that he had been sitting in a cold and dark room, that he had been hungry and so thirsty that he’d had to drink the dirty water from puddles on the ground. Nothing about being abducted, nothing about his rescue. There was nothing but darkness, thirst, and hunger to build his nightmares around, and who didn’t have nightmares about darkness? Thirst and hunger were passing feelings, acute needs in the moment, but hard to relate to when not being experienced. The horrifying nights and days would shrink in his consciousness, seem unreal, and be forgotten. That could only be good for his mental well-being in the future, even if it was a little strange that he didn’t remember being separated from his kindergarten group and then being transported somehow from the woods at Furulundsskogen. Had he been drugged? Surely he had to have been—who would have been able to trick him into coming with them otherwise without him remembering it?