She's Never Coming Back (22 page)

‘The Gang of Four,’ Jörgen said.

His wife rapped him on the head.

‘Stop it,’ she said. ‘You’ve got Calle going. Now listen here, both of you. You can’t carry on like this. You need to get a hobby, have an affair or something.’

‘Yes, I’ll have to think of something to do,’ Calle said. ‘Because I won’t be getting any more work, that’s for sure.’

There was a knock and Ylva stood where she was visible with her hands on her head. The door opened. It was Marianne. Ylva knew it. Her window on the world showed that it was daytime, not much going on. Gösta was at work.

Marianne closed the door and came into the room. She had a plate with her.

‘There was some left over,’ she said.

Ylva took a step towards her.

‘Stay where you are,’ Marianne said, and held up her hand.

Ylva stood still.

‘Sit.’

Ylva obeyed.

Without taking her eyes off her face, Marianne scraped the leftovers from the plate on to the floor.

‘Do you think this is dignified?’ she asked.

Ylva didn’t answer.

‘You’re a dog. The question is, what kind of dog? The small, yapping kind, or the big, lumbering kind? Doesn’t really matter though, they all smell disgusting. I have to say, you’re costing us a lot of money. Electricity, food and I don’t know what. You’re not exactly worth the money. No, I reckon we’re getting to the end of the road. Don’t you agree?’

Ylva looked up at her, puzzled.

‘That’s a good girl, clever dog, you understand exactly what your mistress is saying. You should do what Annika did. Follow her example. It’s for the best. I mean, this isn’t life, is it? Not for you, not for anyone. And we both know that you don’t deserve any better, I think we can agree on that.’

Marianne gave a resigned sigh.

‘Think about it,’ she said.

She went back to the door, opened it, and turned round.

‘If the rope’s not enough, I can get some pills for you.’

She nodded at the food on the floor.

‘Go on, eat your food.’

Mike rang and said it was an emergency, asked if he could come. And Gösta of course made the time.

‘Tell me,’ he said, and Mike told him about the mysterious visit.

Gösta listened and smiled in amusement, and Mike grew more and more uncertain.

‘What is it?’ he said, feeling like a child who was being indulged.

‘I thought it was something serious,’ Gösta said.

‘But, Jesus, it is serious.’

‘No,’ Gösta countered, ‘it’s not serious. How are things with Nour?’

‘Good, good. What do you mean, it’s not serious?’

‘I thought your love life was falling to bits,’ Gösta said. ‘But this is no more than a wasp at a picnic. Annoying, yes, and difficult to brush off, but you’re still having a picnic.’

Mike allowed himself to be calmed, and, after a while, he laughed too.

‘But you must admit, it is strange.’

‘What? That some old school friends have died of cancer or in an accident? You said yourself that Ylva had never mentioned them. Can hardly have been close friends. So, what have we got? Three people who have died, who all went to the same relatively big school. I don’t see what the issue is.’

‘They were in the same class,’ Mike said. ‘And the guy too. The one who came to see me.’

Gösta didn’t say anything.

‘Should I go to the police?’ Mike asked.

‘What for?’

‘To report him. Next time he might touch up Sanna.’

Gösta lifted his eyes to the ceiling, clenched his lips and rolled his head backwards and forwards while he thought.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Do you think there’s any real danger?’

‘Nothing direct,’ Mike said. ‘Hard to say. But I would never forgive myself if something happened to her.’

Gösta leaned across the desk.

‘What did you say he was called?’

‘Calle Collin.’

‘Have you googled him?’

‘He’s written articles for a number of papers and publications, nothing weird.’

‘You said that he was working for
Family Journal
. Maybe you could talk to someone there first?’

‘What was he called? Calle …?’

Marianne looked impatiently through her daughter’s old yearbook. She ran her finger down the list of names.

‘Calle, Calle, Calle. Jonsson?’

‘No, Collin,’ Gösta corrected.

‘Here,’ she said, and read out: ‘Third from left, second row. There.’

She studied the photograph, looked doubtful, shrugged.

‘I would never have recognised him,’ she said.

The doorbell rang. Gösta leaned forward, looked out through the window and saw that it was Mike.

‘Jesus, it’s him.’

‘Well, go and open the door then,’ Marianne hissed.

Closing the door to the cellar, to be on the safe side, Gösta made his way to the front door. He opened it, feigning surprise. Mike was standing there with a bottle in his hand.

‘A symbol of my gratitude,’ he said.

‘Oh, you shouldn’t have. There was really no need.’

‘Yes, you’ve meant an enormous amount to me. I don’t know how I would have managed without your help.’

Gösta took the bottle, looked at the label and raised his eyebrows in appreciation.

‘Goodness. Well, thank you very, very much. This is more than enough, but thank you. I would ask you in, but now’s not really a good time.’

‘No, no, don’t worry, I have to go home and rustle up some food for Sanna,’ Mike said. ‘I just wanted to give you that, no more.’

‘Thank you,’ Gösta said again.

‘No, it’s me who should thank you.’

Mike gave a wave and left. Gösta closed the door and went back to his wife in the kitchen.

‘He recognised me,’ she said, and tapped her finger on the photograph in the school yearbook. ‘I don’t think he
managed to place me, but when he does, he’ll no doubt put two and two together.’

‘Relax. Why do you want to believe it’s worse than it is? First of all, why should he recognise you? How many of your school friends’ parents would you recognise? And you didn’t recognise him.’

‘No, but that’s because he was a child then and now he’s an adult. I’m sure we’ve changed a lot too, but not in the same way.’

Gösta sighed.

‘And even if he did recognise you, why would he make the connection with Ylva? There’s no reason. Besides, Mike threw him out. It’s not very likely that Calle Collin will contact him again.’

‘Perhaps not, but there’s a risk.’

Marianne took a deep breath.

‘Gösta, it’s time. She has to go. If she doesn’t do it herself, you’ll have to help her.’

Ylva saw it all on screen.

Mike strode over towards the house where she was, a bottle of wine in his hand. Soon after, he left again, empty-handed.

The camera didn’t cover the area outside the front door, but it didn’t require much imagination to guess what had happened. Mike had come to give them a bottle of wine. Which confirmed what Gösta had said: that he and Mike were close, that Gösta had Mike’s ear.

The wine was obviously a thank you for his help. For listening to Mike, even though it happened to be his job. That was the way it worked in the suburbs, a bottle of wine in return for a friendly gesture. Between neighbours.

Ylva wondered what it would mean for her. What dangers it might entail. Gösta and Marianne could not, under any circumstances, entertain in their house. Anyone who crossed the threshold was a risk to them. They had to keep their distance from any neighbours who tried to get closer; they could greet them cheerily but no more than that.

Gösta’s interest in her had waned, Ylva was very aware of that. She knew that the day he no longer wanted her, she was lost.

Ylva tried to moan with more feeling and to reinvent herself in every thinkable way, but still Gösta seemed to be bored. It was really only when he took her with force that he managed to muster the same interest that he’d shown in her for the first six months.

It was important that they didn’t get carried away. They had to plan it, weigh up every alternative carefully. It wouldn’t be any problem to kill her. But Gösta still believed that they could persuade her to take that step herself. They simply had to open her eyes, force her to recognise her situation and fully understand what she had become. Then she would see that there was only one thing left for her to do.

No, the problem was how to dispose of the body and hide the evidence.

If he had a boat, he could dump her in the sea. But then again, how would he get to the boat with a black rubbish bag
over his shoulder without anyone noticing? There were houses all the way down. You’d be hard pushed to find a stretch of coastline that was more guarded. And no matter which rough track he took through the woods, there was always the risk that some outdoor type would be there looking for mushrooms, and would see the car and remember the registration number.

Burying the body would be heavy work and the chances of it being discovered were considerable.

Why try to hide the body? Surely the best thing would be if it was found as quickly as possible. Then Mike could bury her in the ground and finish grieving. Be free of other people’s suspicion. Even if that meant a lot of help and therapy when Mike discovered that Ylva had been alive the whole time she’d been missing.

The best thing would be for them to dump the body in a ditch alongside some deserted road. He could choose the time rather than the place. At night, when no other headlights were in sight. Then he would quickly toss the body and drive on. It would have to be done in conjunction with some bona fide trip, something that would provide him with an alibi in the unlikely event that he ever came under suspicion.

The body would be wrapped in black bin liners so that no traces were left in the car. They would have to scrub
under her nails and he wouldn’t be able to come inside her in the final days. The latter would mean a bit of a sacrifice on his part.

While Gösta was out dumping the body, Marianne would stay at home and clear the cellar. Every surface would need to be cleaned and the furniture replaced with a suitable drum kit and electric guitar.

They would have to draw up a plan and decide on the date.

Gösta wondered how it would feel to be without Ylva. A relief, obviously, when it was over. But also quite sad.

Avenging Annika had been their driving force for nearly three years. The fight for justice and retribution had overshadowed almost everything. The goal had been clear and life had, in a way, been simple.

Soon it would be over, leaving a vacuum that opened up like an abyss.

The possibility of going down to fuck Ylva whenever he pleased had given him a feeling of richness. An extra dimension.

Soon that would also be history.

Was wine too little? Surely not? The bottle had after all cost well over a hundred kronor. Maybe Gösta had hoped for
whisky. Mike had considered it, but felt uncertain about giving spirits as it wasn’t Christmas.

Pah. He pushed the thought to one side. It had nothing to do with not being pleased. The reason that Gösta had seemed somewhat reserved was that he preferred to keep a distance, socially, given that Mike was still his patient.

That’s all it was. Nothing more.

The day that Mike finished his treatment, they could go out for dinner, the four of them.

Gösta’s wife seemed nice. She and Nour would definitely get on. Who wouldn’t get on with Nour? Mike got butterflies even thinking about her. It almost made him giggle.

And like a sign from God, she came through the door. Sanna rushed out into the hall to greet her. Mike stood back, embarrassed by his childish joy. It couldn’t get any better. He waited his turn and kissed her on the mouth. He took her coat and hung it up on a hook.

‘Smells good,’ she said.

‘Mince sauce,’ Mike said. ‘Red.’

Nour didn’t get it.

‘Difficult to explain. It’s very sophisticated.’

Sanna disappeared into the sitting room, where Mike was less than delighted to discover that she had emptied her
vast collection of Lego on to the fluffy carpet. No matter how much he hoovered and beat that carpet, Mike knew that there would always be pieces left in it somewhere.

He poured a glass of red wine and handed it to Nour.

‘Thank you,’ she said, taking the glass.

Mike looked at her and smiled.

Nour didn’t know why.

‘I just feel so happy,’ he said.

Gösta took his time, went through his entire repertoire. Ylva’s moaning and writhing verged on the limits of credible, but Gösta had no objections. Afterwards, he lay beside her for a long while, breathing heavily, his chest sweaty.

‘You certainly can do this,’ he said.

‘Thank you.’

‘Are you happy?’

‘I’m happy,’ Ylva said.

‘Mike and Sanna are happy too,’ Gösta said.

Ylva didn’t answer. Neither he nor Marianne ever mentioned her family by accident, there was always a reason.

‘He’s together with Nour now, as you know. I’ve never seen him happier. Sanna, too, for that matter. No one is indispensable, least of all you.’

Ylva said nothing.

‘It would certainly cause a scene if you were to ring on the doorbell now.’

‘I’m happy here,’ Ylva said.

‘You are? Yes, you’ve got it good, considering why you’re here.’

‘With you,’ Ylva said. ‘I’m happy with you.’

Gösta laughed, sat up on the edge of the bed and started to pull on his underpants.

‘Marianne says that I’ve had my fun.’

‘Is she jealous?’

Gösta stared at her. She lowered her eyes.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘We are not a couple, you and I. You’re just a cheap whore and you should be grateful that I come here and fuck you at all. I do it out of kindness, do you understand?’

‘I know, thank you. I’m sorry.’

‘Your thousand and one nights are coming to an end, it’s all getting about routine. No matter how I twist and turn you, you still only have three holes. I’ll be back tomorrow.

And I want to be surprised. Do you understand? If you don’t manage that, then we’ll have to think of something.’