The Hidden Child. Camilla Lackberg
was asking whether you’d like to come to my salsa class tonight. It’s for beginners. Not difficult at all. At eight o’clock.’
Mellberg looked at her in disbelief. Salsa class? Him? What a perfectly ridiculous idea. But then he happened to look a little too deep into Rita’s dark eyes, and to his astonishment he heard himself saying:
‘Salsa class? Eight o’clock? Great.’
Erica was already starting to regret her decision as she walked up the gravel path towards the house belonging to Erik and Axel. It no longer seemed such a good idea, and it was with much hesitation that she raised her fist to knock on the door. At first there was no response, and she was relieved to think that nobody was at home. Then she heard footsteps inside, and her heart sank as the door opened.
‘Yes?’ Axel Frankel looked worn out. He gave her a puzzled look.
‘Hi, I’m Erica Falck, and I …’ She paused, not knowing how to go on.
‘Elsy’s daughter.’ Axel’s weariness seemed to disappear as he studied her with an odd look in his eyes. ‘Yes, I can see it now. You’re very much alike, you and your mother.’
‘We are?’ said Erica, surprised. No one had ever said that before.
‘Yes, there’s something about your eyes. And your mouth.’ He tilted his head and seemed to take in every detail of her appearance. Then he stepped aside. ‘Come in.’
Erica went into the entry hall and stopped.
‘Come this way – we’ll go and sit on the veranda.’ He strode off, apparently expecting Erica to follow. She hung up her coat and hurried to catch up. He motioned her to a sofa in a beautiful glassed-in veranda similar to the one that she and Patrik had in their home.
‘Have a seat.’
They sat there for a while in silence. Realizing that he wasn’t going to offer her coffee, Erica cleared her throat and said: ‘Well, the reason that I …’ She started over. ‘The reason that I stopped by was that I left a medal with Erik.’ She could hear how brusque that sounded and added: ‘Oh, of course I wanted to offer you my condolences. I …’ Growing more uncomfortable by the minute, she fidgeted as she searched for a way to continue.
Axel dismissed her obvious embarrassment with a wave of his hand and said in a friendly voice: ‘You were saying something about a medal.’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Erica, grateful that he’d taken charge. ‘This past spring I found a medal among my mother’s belongings. A Nazi medal. I didn’t know why she’d kept it and I was curious. And since I knew that your brother …’ She shrugged.
‘Was Erik able to help you?’
‘I don’t know. That is, we spoke on the phone in the spring, but then I got really busy and, well … I was planning to contact him again, but …’ Her words faded away.
‘And now you’re wondering if it’s still here?’
Erica nodded. ‘Yes. I’m sorry. It sounds so awful that I’m bothering you about it right now when … But my mother hadn’t kept very many things, so …’ She fidgeted again. She really should have phoned instead. This felt so cold-blooded.
‘I understand. I really do understand. Believe me, I of all people know how important it is to have ties to the past. Even if those ties are based on inanimate objects. And Erik would definitely have understood, considering all the things he collected, all the facts. For him they weren’t dead. They were alive, told a story, taught us something …’ He stared through the glass panes and for a moment seemed to be somewhere far away. Then he turned to Erica again.
‘Of course I’ll look for it. But first tell me a little more about your mother. What was she like? What was her life like?’
Erica found these questions rather strange. But seeing Axel’s pleading eyes she tried her best to answer.
‘Hmm … what was my mother like? To be honest, I don’t really know. Mamma was older when she had me and my sister, and … I don’t know … we never had a very good relationship with her. As for her life …’ Erica was confused by the question. Partly because she didn’t fully understand what he wanted to know, and partly because she didn’t know what to say.
‘I think she had rather a hard time of it. With life, I mean. She was always so reserved. To me, she never seemed … happy.’ Erica struggled to find a better way to explain, but that was as close to the truth as she could get. She couldn’t recall ever seeing her mother happy.
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Axel again gazed out of the window, as if he couldn’t bear to look at Erica. She wondered why he was asking her these questions.
‘What was my mother like when you knew her?’ Erica couldn’t disguise the eagerness in her voice.
Axel turned towards her, and his face seemed to soften. ‘It was actually my brother who was friends with Elsy, since they were about the same age. But they were part of a foursome: Erik, Elsy, Frans, and Britta. A real four-leaf clover.’ He laughed, a strangely joyless laugh.
‘Yes, she wrote about them in the diaries that I found. I know about your brother, but who were Frans and Britta?’
‘Diaries?’ Axel gave a start of surprise, but it came and went so quickly that a second later Erica thought she must have imagined his reaction. ‘Frans Ringholm and Britta …’ Axel snapped his fingers. ‘Now what was Britta’s last name?’ He closed his eyes as if searching the dark recesses of his memory but shook his head, unable to find the information. ‘Anyway, I think she still lives here in Fjällbacka. She has daughters – two or three, I’m not sure – but they’re quite a bit older than you. Hmm … it’s on the tip of my tongue, but … She probably changed her name when she got married. Wait, now I remember. Her last name was Johansson, and she married a man also named Johansson, so she didn’t have to change her name after all.’
‘So I should be able to find her. But you didn’t answer my question. What was my mother like? Back then.’
Axel was silent for a long time, then he said: ‘She was a quiet girl. Contemplative, but never gloomy. Not the way you describe her. She had a quiet joy about her that came from inside. Nothing like Britta.’ He snorted.
‘So what was Britta like?’
‘I never really liked her. I couldn’t understand why my brother wanted to spend time with such a … silly goose.’ Axel shook his head. ‘No, your mother was a very different sort of girl. Britta was shallow and superficial, and she kept running after Frans in a way that … girls just didn’t do back then. Those were different times, you know.’ He gave Erica a wry smile and winked.
‘So what about Frans?’ Erica was staring at Axel open-mouthed, ready to take in all the information that he had about her mother. The more she found out, the more she realized how little she’d known her mother.
‘Frans Ringholm was someone else I didn’t think my brother should spend time with. A fierce temper, a mean streak, and … no, he’s not the sort you should be friends with. Then or now.’
‘What does he do now?’
‘He lives in Grebbestad. And you might say that he and I have taken different paths in life.’ Axel’s tone of voice was filled with contempt.
‘How do you mean?’
‘I mean that I’ve devoted my life to fighting Nazism, while Frans would like to see history repeat itself, and preferably here on Swedish soil.’
‘So how does the Nazi medal that I found come into the picture?’ In her eagerness, Erica leaned towards Axel, but it was as if his face suddenly closed.
‘Ah, that’s right, the medal …’ he said, getting to his feet and moving quickly towards the door. ‘I think we should go and look for it.’
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