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

always been a scaredy-cat, but he was all grown up now. He was taller and more broad-shouldered than Arne. There were medals on his tunic, and Arne noticed the green beret tucked under one epaulette. However, what bothered him was the way Elita was looking at Leo, as if the little soldier boy was the most fantastic thing she’d ever set eyes on.

The stupid idiot had obviously been persuaded to take on Lasse, and that could only end one way. Lasse’s arms were as thick as pythons, and as far as Arne knew, he’d never lost a match. So now it was the soldier boy’s turn to be humiliated. They’d only just started; their arms were still vertical, and the veins on the back of their hands were bulging with the effort.

Lasse had adopted his usual tactic. First of all he tired his opponent by simply keeping his hand still, then when he thought he’d played out the drama for long enough, he would slowly force down the other man’s hand one centimetre at a time, occasionally pausing just to show how superior he was.

Lasse grinned, but Leo didn’t seem worried. He was leaning across the table with his chest much closer to his hand than Lasse’s was. Nor did he appear to be trying as hard as he should be at this stage. Instead he slowly moved his upper body and his hand a fraction to the side.

The technique looked professional, as if Leo knew exactly what he was doing, which worried Arne. Fortunately Lasse stopped the movement, but his grin wasn’t quite so confident now.

‘Come on, Leo!’ Elita called out again, and her voice sent a shard of ice into Arne’s heart.

Leo repeated the manoeuvre. Lasse stopped grinning and frowned as doubts began to creep in. He couldn’t believe what was happening. Leo continued to move his body to the side, and Lasse did his utmost to stop their hands from doing the same. Sweat was pouring down his face, and a prominent vein was throbbing at his temple. Leo did it again.

One of Lasse’s nostrils twitched, his hand began to tremble and then slowly, slowly sank towards the table. Arne held his breath. There wasn’t a sound in the little kitchen, as if everyone there had realised that something incomprehensible was happening.

The colour drained from Lasse’s face and his eyes were transformed into two pieces of coal. He drew back his lips, exposing all his teeth, and the vein at his temple looked as if it was about to burst. However, his resistance was futile. Leo’s technique forced Lasse closer and closer to inevitable defeat.

Lasse leaped to his feet and overturned the table, sending the moonshine, cups and cake flying. The three terrified women pressed themselves against the worktop. Leo got to his feet, showing no sign of fear. He was a head taller than Lasse, and at least as muscular, but in spite of this Arne thought Lasse was about to attack the younger man. He probably ought to do something to calm the situation; after all, he was a police officer. Then again, that cocky little soldier boy deserved a beating.

Lasse stepped forward, fist raised. Leo still didn’t have the wit to be scared. Instead he clenched his fists, lowered his chin and bent his knees; he knew exactly what he was doing.

At the last second Lasse realised the same thing. He dropped his arm and produced a large flick knife from somewhere. Released the blade with one thumb.

Someone gasped, and out of the corner of his eye Arne saw that Lola and Eva-Britt’s faces were rigid with fear. Elita, however, was looking from Lasse to Leo and back again, seemingly unaware of Arne’s presence. The kitchen stank of spilt booze.

Lasse tightened his grip on the knife. ‘You little fucker! You come back here thinking you’re something – this is my fucking house!’

Arne had to do something.

‘OK,’ he began in his most authoritative tone of voice. He stepped forward, positioning himself between the two men. ‘Let’s all calm down, shall—’

‘Shut the fuck up!’ Lasse yelled.

Arne recoiled as if he’d been punched, but stood his ground. One foot had landed in the remains of the cake, and the alcohol fumes were making the membranes in his nose smart. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? His baton was still in the car, and it would take too long to draw his gun.

He heard the dogs barking outside, followed by the sound of an engine.

This seemed to bring Lasse to his senses. In a second he flicked the blade shut and slipped the knife into his pocket.

‘Get this mess cleaned up!’ he shouted at the women, who didn’t move a muscle.

He gave Leo one last filthy look, pushed past Arne without so much as a glance, and slammed the door behind him.

20

‘I’m sure you’re wondering what it is about this story that fascinates me, Margaux. Why I’m so interested in something that happened over thirty years ago.

‘I’d like to say it’s for David’s sake, because whatever went on back then, it still torments him. I want to help him, just as he helped me.

‘But that’s not the whole truth. There’s another reason, but you’ll have to be patient for a while longer. Wait until I’ve gathered the courage to tell you.’

Thea wakes early, as always. It’s just before four; Emee is asleep on the floor next to her bed. The nightlight is on. The moonlight seeps through the blind, drawing a pattern of stripes on the ceiling. Thea gazes up at it, following the lines. She notices a small patch of damp where the wall meets the ceiling. Best not to mention it to David, at least not at the moment. He’s got enough to think about. Things she could never have imagined.

Poor child. You must never tell anyone. Never, never, never . . .

What did Bertil mean by that? What was it that must never be told, and why had he reacted so