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

wants to protest, explain that she has to get back, that she has absolutely no desire to drive to a prison, or to see her father. But she doesn’t have a choice, and in a way she’s surprised. Why isn’t Ronny angry with her? He used to have a terrible temper, almost on a level with Dad’s. Has he mellowed over the years, or is there something she’s missing?

*

It’s still drizzling. She lets Emee out of the car, takes her for a walk along the dirt road, dodging the huge puddles.

Her childhood home is built of grey brick, and backs onto the forest and the slope. The blinds are down, a couple of them hanging askew. The cellar windows have been boarded up, and an old wreck of a car without wheels sits on the drive. A few pieces of plastic garden furniture are sticking up among the knee-high grass, and several planks are missing from the rotting fence.

She stops by the mail box; she doesn’t want to go any closer. The house makes her feel uncomfortable, particularly those boarded-up windows. How many times did Dad lock her in down there in the dark? More than she can count. The smell is still embedded in her brain. Dampness, earth, fear. Sometimes urine. If she stopped crying and kept really quiet, she could hear the faint sound of insects scuttling across the floor. The ones with hard bodies and vibrating wings.

She’d promised herself that she would never come back, and yet she’s standing here. Is it just because she’s afraid of being exposed, caught out having lied about her past? Or is there another reason? Does some small part of her still long for Daddy’s approval, or even his forgiveness?

*

Ronny is waiting by her car, wearing a filthy hi-vis jacket. Two dogs are sniffing around him. Scruffy, muscular bodies. Square jaws, short snouts. They race towards her barking wildly as soon as they see Emee.

‘The boys just want to say hello,’ Ronny says.

Emee lies down on the ground and Ronny’s dogs stand over her, legs apart, growling and baring their teeth. Emee presses herself even lower, head down.

Thea hates to see her like that. Diminished, cowed. She tries to push away the two male dogs but the paler one snaps at her. Thea dodges to one side and drops the lead.

Emee leaps to her feet, lets out a kind of roar and attacks the paler dog. The onslaught is so fierce that the animal rolls right over on the gravel.

The darker dog goes for Emee, but she is ready for him. The two of them collide in mid-air, but Emee is bigger and stronger, knocking him over too. He quickly gets up and the two male dogs take up their positions a couple of metres away, hackles raised, but neither dares approach.

Emee has been transformed from a submissive bitch into a predator with bared teeth. There is a look in her eyes that Thea has never seen before. She crouches down, preparing to attack, but at the last second Thea manages to grab her lead.

‘Calm down, sweetheart,’ she says, trying to pull her close.

Emee flatly refuses to move. The muscles in her powerful body are tensed, and a low rumble is coming from deep in her chest.

‘Calm down,’ Thea says again. Emee stops growling, but continues to glare menacingly at the other two dogs.

Ronny hasn’t intervened; he seems faintly amused.

‘Tough chick,’ he says.

‘She doesn’t like being walked all over,’ Thea replies.

Ronny shouts a command, and after a couple of seconds’ hesitation his dogs shamble over to his house and lie down on the steps, keeping an eye on Thea and Emee from a safe distance.

‘I wanted to ask you something,’ Thea says. ‘Did you ever come across a young guy called Leo Rasmussen? He’s from Skåne, three years older than you. He was convicted of murdering his stepsister in 1986. He got six years.’

She knows it’s a long shot, but somehow Emee’s reaction has given her a dose of self-confidence.

Ronny shakes his head. ‘Doesn’t ring a bell.’

‘Do you know anyone who might know something about him?’

One corner of his mouth lifts in a wry smile.

‘I’ve tried to stay on the right side of the law over the past few years; I didn’t want to get dragged into all that again. But you could always ask the old man. He’s got contacts everywhere.’

*

Thea puts Emee in the car and gets ready to leave. Ronny’s hard expression has softened.

‘Dad’s ill, Jenny. He’s not like he used to be.’

‘No?’

Ronny shrugs. ‘Not really. I’ll call the prison, let him know you’re coming.’

She wonders whether to thank him, but decides against it. She’s here because he forced her to come; it wasn’t her choice.

‘One more thing,’ he says as she opens the car door. He tugs at his beard, looking indecisive. ‘If he . . . If he gives you too much grief, ask him how Jocke died.’

‘Jocke?’

He nods. For a brief moment she sees the Ronny who built dens and made pine cone animals for her. Then the moment is gone.

‘Drive carefully, sis. Good to see you.’

54

The prison looks nothing like the institution Thea had imagined. No walls, no watchtowers, no steel gates. Just a simple fence enclosing a number of red two-storey buildings.

The visitors’ room smells of coffee and cinnamon buns. The walls are painted in a familiar shade of hospital orange.

Everything becomes clear when her father shuffles slowly into the room. He is gaunt, his clothes hanging off him, eyes sunken, his skin so thin that she feels as if she can see the blood vessels through it.

Before she went in she hung around in the car park for at least ten minutes. Smoked four cigarettes and tried to gather her courage. Not that she succeeded. She has broken out in a cold sweat, her mouth is as dry as dust and she is sitting on her hands to stop them shaking.

He stops by the table. Thea isn’t sure whether to stand up.