Rites of Spring, Anders Motte [reading diary .TXT] 📗

top of the barn was covered with a tarpaulin. There was a general smell of dampness and decay that Arne had barely registered before, but today it made him wrinkle his nose.

A homemade sign stood beside the steps leading up to the house; it wasn’t even straight.

LASSE SVART FARRIER

Underneath, in different handwriting:

EVA-BRITT RASMUSSEN AND LOLA SVART

HOMEOPATHIC MEDICINES, EQUINE MASSAGE

The front door opened and Eva-Britt appeared, wiping her hands on a dirty rag. She stared at the police car, then at Arne.

Eva-Britt and Ingrid were about the same age, with the same hard expression, the same sharp tongue. But Eva-Britt looked at least ten years older than Ingrid. Her hair was already turning grey, her mouth permanently locked in a bitter grimace.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ she muttered.

Arne glared at her as he mounted the steps. ‘Aren’t you going to offer me a coffee?’

Normally Eva-Britt would have stood her ground in the doorway, blocked his path and told him to go to hell, but today she stepped aside. She seemed to realise that he was no longer Downhill Arne, Lasse’s little errand boy, but a person to be respected.

The kitchen was a mess, as usual. Bottles, cups, containers, little bowls everywhere, and there was an unpleasant, acrid smell.

Elita’s mother Lola was heating some concoction on the stove. She didn’t respond to Arne’s greeting. Lola had always been beautiful: almond-shaped eyes, long dark hair, white alabaster skin. Once upon a time Arne had only dared to gaze at her in secret, but on closer inspection he could see that she was no longer quite as lovely as he recalled. Or maybe the past few years had taken their toll. Her hands were callused, her back was bent, and her expression was guarded. For a moment Arne was filled with an unexpected feeling of tenderness.

‘So what are you two girls up to?’ he asked in his smoothest voice.

Lola quickly looked away, which bothered him. He hadn’t meant to scare her.

‘Nothing,’ Eva-Britt snapped, planting herself in front of him with her arms folded, as if she regained something of her old, vicious self. ‘And you’ve got no right to come marching in here, Arne.’

The way she said his name had always annoyed him. She kind of spat it out, as if the letters had a nasty taste.

‘No right?’ He walked around Eva-Britt to the kitchen table, picked up one of the plastic containers and sniffed the contents. Acted as if he hadn’t seen similar containers hundreds of times before. ‘This smells like moonshine. As you know, it’s illegal to produce or sell alcohol at home. You could end up in jail . . .’

Eva-Britt shrank a little. ‘Lasse’s down in the paddock,’ she said, slightly too loudly.

‘And?’

‘Elita’s there too.’

Arne slowly replaced the stopper and put down the container. Nodded as reassuringly as he could to Lola, then turned and left the kitchen.

10

‘Everyone here is really friendly. Almost unpleasantly friendly, if you know what I mean – a bit like the neighbours at the beginning of Rosemary’s Baby. You’re laughing now, aren’t you? Remembering how I hated all those old horror films you made me watch. We used to sit on your bed with the laptop between us, with me trying to hide how scared I was. I miss those times, Margaux. I miss them so much.’

Thea and Dr Andersson get into the Toyota. They’re going to visit a patient on the way home. Apparently Kerstin Miller used to be David’s teacher. She lives in the hunting lodge, deep in the forest. Thea tries to remember if David has ever mentioned her, but the name doesn’t ring any bells.

‘When you’re doing home visits, it’s important to press the business journey button on the sat-nav so that it matches your travel log. The foundation likes to keep an eye on its outgoings.’ She groans at the effort involved in turning her upper body as she reverses away from the centre. ‘I thought this morning went very well. I was afraid that people might be a little shy, especially with someone from Uppland, but they talked to you as if they’d known you for years. I think you’re going to fit in very well, Thea.’ She nods with satisfaction at her verdict. ‘You haven’t worked as a GP before, have you?’

‘No. I was a pathologist for a few years.’

‘What made you want to change?’

Thea shrugs. ‘I became good friends with a woman I met at a conference, and she got me into Doctors Without Borders. She convinced me I could do more good among the living.’

She stops; she has no desire to say any more about Margaux.

Dr Andersson seems satisfied with her answer. She remains silent for all of five seconds before changing the subject.

‘Ingrid and I went to school together – maybe she already told you that?’

Thea shakes her head.

‘I’ve known her and Bertil ever since we were little. Ingrid was the class organiser even back then. Bertil was a couple of years above us. He was a good footballer. And he was very handsome.’ She laughs. ‘Well, handsome for Tornaby! He looked a bit like Elvis, with eyes like velvet and wavy hair. A lot of the girls were after Bertil – much prettier girls than Ingrid, but she decided she wanted him, and all the rest just had to step aside. Even Bertil didn’t have much say in the matter.’ The doctor laughs again. ‘They were made for each other, those two. They were both strong-willed and ambitious, both with a fierce sense of responsibility. Ingrid’s father owned the general store and chaired the sports association, while Bertil’s father ran the bank and was a local councillor. The cream of the village, if you know what I mean. Ingrid was twenty-one when they got married, and David came along the following year.’

The doctor lowers her voice.

‘It could have gone very badly. Ingrid haemorrhaged – she almost died.’

‘Oh goodness – I didn’t know that.’

‘Yes, it was a close thing. Bertil sat by her