The Girl in the Woods. Camilla Lackberg
took several deep breaths before she could push it open. Everything looked exactly the same as always, which made it even more heartbreaking. The wallpaper with pink stars, with little pieces missing where Nea had picked at the paper. The teddy bears piled up at the end of the bed. The bedclothes decorated with pictures of Elsa from the film Frozen. The Olaf doll that always lay on the pillow. The hanger with … Eva stopped short. She knew exactly what Nea had on. To make sure she peeked inside the wardrobe and then looked around the room. No, she didn’t see it anywhere. She hurried back downstairs.
‘She’s wearing her Elsa dress.’
‘What does an Elsa dress look like?’ asked Gösta.
‘It’s a blue princess dress. With a picture of the princess on the front. Elsa, from Frozen. She loves Frozen. And she probably has on her Frozen knickers too.’
Eva realized that things she took for granted, as the parent of a young child, might be completely foreign to someone else. She’d watched that film at least a hundred times. It was on twice a day, every day, year round. Nea loved it more than anything, and she could perform the whole ‘Let It Go’ scene. Eva forced back a sob. She could picture Nea so clearly as she whirled around wearing her blue dress and the long white gloves, dancing as she sang all the lyrics. Where was she? And why were they just sitting here?
‘I’ll go and make those phone calls. Then we’ll start the search,’ said Gösta, as if he’d heard her silent scream.
All she could muster was a nod. She looked at Peter. Both of them were thinking the same dark thoughts.
It was an overcast November morning, and Elin Jonsdotter shivered as she sat next to her daughter in the clattering wagon. The vicarage, which they were gradually approaching, was beginning to look more like a castle compared with the little house where she and Per had lived in Oxnäs.
Britta had been fortunate. That had always been true. As their father’s favourite, Elin’s little sister had received all manner of advantages during their childhood, and there had never been any doubt that she would find a good husband. And their father had been right. Britta had married the vicar and moved into the vicarage, while Elin had been forced to settle for Per the fisherman. But Elin had no complaints. Per might have been poor, but a kinder person could not be found on this earth.
A heavy feeling settled in her chest at the thought of Per. But she gave herself a shake and plucked up her courage. There was no use shedding any more tears over something she could not change. God had wanted to test her, and now she and Märta would have to try to survive without Per.
She had to admit, it had been most generous of Britta to offer her a position as a maid at the vicarage, as well as a roof over their heads. Even so, Elin felt a great sense of unease as Lars Larsson drove into the yard, their few possessions piled in the wagon. Britta had not been a particularly nice child, and Elin doubted that age would have made her any kinder. But she could ill afford to turn down the offer. As tenants in the coastal area they had merely leased the fields. When Per died, the farmer had said they could stay until the end of the month, but then they would have to leave. As a poor widow without a home or any means of support, she would have to rely on the goodwill of others. And she had heard that Britta’s husband Preben, who was the vicar in Tanumshede, was a pleasant and amiable man. She had seen him only at church services. She had not been invited to Britta’s wedding, and of course she and her family had never been invited to visit the vicarage. But she recalled that he had kind eyes.
When the wagon came to a halt and Lars muttered that they should climb down, she pulled Märta close for a moment. Everything would be fine, she told herself. But a voice inside her was saying something else entirely.
Martin gave the swing another push. He couldn’t help smiling at Tuva’s happy shriek.
He was feeling better with every day that passed, and he realized this was largely due to his daughter Tuva. Right now she was on summer holiday from pre-school, and he had a couple of weeks off, so they were spending every second together. And it had done both of them a world of good. Ever since Pia died, Tuva had slept in his bed, and every night she fell asleep leaning against his chest, often in the middle of a story. He would slip out of bed when he was sure she was sleeping and go sit in front of the TV for another hour or two, drinking a cup of the calming tea he’d bought at a health-food shop. Annika was the one who had suggested in the wintertime he should try to find some soothing natural herb or supplement for those times when sleep evaded him. He didn’t know whether it was a placebo effect or the tea was actually working, but he’d been able to get some sleep. And maybe that’s what had made all the difference, enabling him to cope with the loss. It never went away entirely, but the edges had gradually worn smooth, and he could even allow himself to think of Pia without falling apart. He tried to tell Tuva about her mother. They would talk about her and look at photographs. Tuva was so young when Pia died that she had very few memories of her mother. He wanted to tell her as much about Pia as he could.
‘Pappa, push me higher!’
Tuva shrieked with joy when he gave the swing an even harder push, and she soared higher.
Her dark hair flew around her face and, as had happened so many times before, Martin was struck by how much the little girl looked like Pia. He got out his mobile to film her, backing up to get everything in the frame. When his heels bumped into something, he heard a loud cry. Startled, he glanced behind him and caught sight of a toddler who was screaming to high heaven as he held a sandy toy spade in his hand.
‘Oh, sorry,’ said Martin, kneeling down to comfort the boy.
He glanced around, but none of the other adults showed any sign of coming over, so he ruled them out as the kid’s parents.
‘Shhh, don’t worry, we’ll find your mamma and pappa,’ he consoled the toddler, who merely screamed even louder.
A short distance away, over by some shrubbery, he saw a woman about his own age who was talking on her mobile. He tried to catch her eye, but she seemed upset. She was speaking angrily and motioning with her free hand. He waved to her, but she still didn’t notice. Finally he turned to Tuva, whose swing was losing momentum now that he wasn’t pushing it.
‘Wait here. I have to take this baby over to his mamma.’
‘Pappa kicked the baby,’ said Tuva loudly, but he shook his head at her words.
‘No, Pappa didn’t kick the baby. Pappa— Oh, never mind, we’ll talk about it later.’
Martin picked up the screaming boy, hoping he could make it over to the woman before she noticed that a strange man was carrying her son. But he needn’t have worried. She remained completely immersed in her phone conversation. He felt a trace of annoyance as he watched her talking and gesticulating when she should be keeping an eye on her child. The boy was now screaming loud enough to pierce his eardrums.
‘Excuse me,’ he said when he reached the woman, and she stopped in mid-sentence.
She had tears in her eyes, and mascara was running down her cheeks.
‘I have to go now. YOUR son is unhappy!’ she said, and ended the call.
She wiped her eyes and held out her arms towards the boy.
‘I’m sorry, I stepped back and didn’t see him behind me,’ said Martin. ‘I don’t think he’s hurt, but I probably scared him a bit.’
The woman hugged the boy.
‘Don’t worry. He’s at that age when he’s scared of strangers,’ she said, blinking away the last of her tears.
‘Are