Buried Angels

Tobias got up. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘Is it true that you were left all alone when your family disappeared? That you had no living relatives?’ asked Patrik.

Ebba nodded.

‘Yes. My mother had no brothers or sisters, and my maternal grandmother died before I turned one. My father was much older, and his parents had died long ago. The only family I have is my adoptive family. And in one sense, I’ve been very lucky. Berit and Sture have always made me feel like their very own daughter.’

‘There were a few boys from the school who were staying here over the Easter holiday. Have you ever been in contact with any of them?’

‘No, why would I do that?’ Ebba’s eyes looked huge in her thin face.

‘We’ve had nothing to do with this place until we decided to move here,’ said Tobias. ‘Ebba inherited the house when her biological parents were declared dead, but after that it was rented out several times. Periodically it stood empty. That’s actually what prompted us to get started on the renovation. Nobody was taking care of the house. Only the most basic repairs have been done.’

‘I think we were meant to come here and tear up the floor,’ said Ebba. ‘There’s a reason for everything.’

‘Really?’ said Tobias. ‘For everything?’

But Ebba didn’t reply, and when Tobias followed Patrik and Gösta to the door, she was still sitting at the table in silence.

As they left Valö behind, Patrik was pondering the same question. What would they do if the techs confirmed that it was blood under the floor? The statute of limitations had expired. Too much time had elapsed, and there were no guarantees that answers could be found this long after the event. So what was the reason behind this discovery? Patrik’s head was filled with uneasy thoughts as he steered the boat homeward.

The doctor stopped talking and utter silence descended over the room. The only sound that Martin heard was the beating of his own heart. He looked at the doctor. How could he seem so unaffected by what he’d just said? Did he give people this sort of news several times a week? And if he did, how could he stand it?

Martin forced himself to keep breathing. He felt as if he’d forgotten how. Every breath demanded a conscious act, a specific instruction to his brain.

‘How long?’ he managed to say.

‘There are several different types of treatment, and the field of medicine is constantly making progress …’ The doctor threw out his hands.

‘But what’s the prognosis, statistically speaking?’ asked Martin, trying to remain calm. He would have liked to launch himself across the desk, grab hold of the doctor’s coat, and shake the information out of him.

Pia didn’t say a word, and Martin still couldn’t look at her. If he did, everything would fall apart. Right now all he could do was focus on the facts. Something tangible, something he could grasp.

‘It’s difficult to be precise. There are so many factors that play a role.’ The same apologetic expression, his hands raised in the air. Already Martin detested that gesture.

‘Answer me!’ he shouted, practically jumping at the sound of his own voice.

‘We’ll start treatment immediately, and then we’ll see how Pia responds. But considering how the cancer has spread, and how aggressive it seems to be … well, we’re talking about six months to a year.’

Martin stared at him. Had he heard right? Tuva wasn’t yet two years old. She couldn’t possibly lose her mother. Things like that didn’t happen. He started shaking. It was oppressively hot in the small room, but he was so cold that his teeth were chattering. Pia put her hand on his arm.

‘Calm down, Martin. We need to stay calm. There’s always a chance that the prognosis is wrong. And I’m going to do whatever it takes to …’ She turned to the doctor. ‘Give me the best treatment you have. I plan to fight this.’

‘We’ll admit you at once. Go home and pack a bag. A room will be arranged for you.’

Martin felt ashamed. Pia was being so strong while he was on the verge of collapse. Images of Tuva whirled through his head, from the moment of her birth to early this morning when she had snuggled with them in bed. Her dark hair tousled, her eyes lively with laughter. Would that laughter be silenced now? Would she lose her joy, her faith that everything was good and that the next day would be even better?

‘We’ll make it through this.’ Pia’s face was ashen, but there was a determination in her expression, which he knew was a sign of her great tenacity. And she was going to need all the resolve she could muster for the most important fight of her life.

‘Let’s go pick up Tuva from Mamma’s place and go out for coffee,’ she said, standing up. ‘We can talk in peace and quiet after she has gone to bed. And I need to pack. How long should I plan on being away from home?’

Martin slowly got to his feet, although his legs felt as if they might buckle at any moment. It was so typical of Pia to think of the practical details.

The doctor hesitated. ‘Just pack enough things for a while.’

He said goodbye and then left to see his next patient.

Martin and Pia stood in the corridor for a moment. Silently they reached out to hold hands.

‘You give them juice in their bottles? Aren’t you afraid it’ll be bad for their teeth?’ Kristina cast a disapproving look at Anton and Noel, who were sitting on the sofa, each holding a bottle.

Erica sighed heavily. Her mother-in-law meant well, and she had actually improved of late, but sometimes Kristina really got on her nerves.

‘I’ve tried giving them water, but they refuse to drink it. And they need fluids in this heat. But I’ve diluted the juice quite a bit.’

‘Well, it’s up to you,’ sniffed Kristina. ‘I’ve given you my opinion. Patrik and Lotta were only given water, and that worked out fine. They didn’t have a single cavity before they left home, and the dentist was always complimenting me on their beautiful teeth.’

Erica bit her tongue as she stood in the kitchen, cleaning up, well out of Kristina’s view. Her mother-in-law was tolerable in small doses, and she was wonderful with the children, but these half-day visits tested Erica’s patience to the limit.

‘I think I’ll put a load of washing in the machine, Erica,’ said Kristina loudly and then continued talking, as if to herself: ‘It’s easier if you pick up things a little at a time and keep the place tidy, then you don’t end up with piles of clutter. Everything should have its place. You need to put it all away when you’re done with it, and Maja is big enough to tidy up after herself. Otherwise she’ll turn out to be a spoiled teenager who never moves away from home and who expects to be waited on, hand and foot. You know my friend Berit? Well, her son is almost forty, but he’s never …’

Erica stuck her fingers in her ears and leaned her forehead against one of the kitchen cupboards. She quietly pounded her head against the cool wooden surface, praying for patience. A firm tap on her shoulder made her jump.

‘What are you doing?’ Kristina was standing next to her, with a fully loaded laundry basket at her feet. ‘I was talking to you, but you didn’t answer.’

With her fingers still stuck in her ears, Erica tried to come up with a plausible explanation.

‘I’m having … trouble with pressure in my ears.’ She pinched her nose and blew hard. ‘It’s been bothering me a lot lately.’

‘Oh my,’ said Kristina. ‘That’s something you need to take seriously. Have you checked to make sure it’s not an ear infection? Children are forever bringing home illnesses when they go to day-care. I’ve always said that day-care centres are not the best solution. In my day, I stayed home with Patrik and Lotta until they started middle school. They didn’t need to go to day-care or stay with a babysitter for even a single day. And they were never sick. Our doctor was always praising me because they were so—’

Erica cut her off mid-flow. ‘The kids haven’t been there for weeks, so I don’t think the day-care centre is the culprit.’

‘If you say so,’ replied Kristina, looking hurt. ‘But at least you know my opinion. After all, who is it you call whenever the children are sick and the two of you have to work? I’m the one who always has to step in.’ She tossed her head, picked up the laundry basket, and left the room.

Erica slowly counted to ten. There was no denying that Kristina often helped out, but they certainly paid a high price for it.

Josef’s parents were both over forty when his mother received the highly unexpected news that she was pregnant. Having long since accepted the fact that they’d never have any children, they had arranged their lives accordingly, devoting all their time to the small tailor’s shop in Fjällbacka. Josef’s arrival changed everything. Although they felt great joy at the prospect of a son and heir, they also felt a great weight because of the responsibility of passing on their heritage, through him.

Josef lovingly studied the photograph of them, which he kept in a solid silver frame on his desk. Behind that photo stood framed pictures of Rebecka and the children. He’d always been the centre of his parents’ lives, and they would always be at the centre of his. That was something his family had to accept.

‘Dinner will be ready soon,’ said Rebecka as she cautiously entered his study.

‘I’m not hungry. You go ahead and eat,’ he said without glancing up. He had much more important things to do than eat.

‘Can’t you join us? Now that the children are home to visit?’

Josef looked at her in surprise. She usually never insisted on anything. Annoyance surged within him, but then he took a deep breath. She was right. These days the children seldom came home.