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

‘I’d better come with you – she doesn’t always hear the bell.’

He unlocks the door with his key and shouts from the porch.

‘Mother! The doctor’s here!’

He goes in, beckons Thea to follow him. The air is rank. The kitchen is littered with packs of medication and empty spirit bottles.

‘Mother!’

A reply comes from upstairs.

‘Mother doesn’t like doctors,’ he says, sounding a little embarrassed. ‘She can be a bit . . .’ he hesitates, searching for the right word ‘. . . difficult, if you know what I mean.’

Thea nods. She read the notes before she came out, but hadn’t realised that the patient was Jan-Olof’s mother. They climb the narrow stairs and he taps on the bedroom door.

‘The doctor’s here.’

‘I told you I don’t want to see a fucking doctor. Is it that fat cow Sigbritt Andersson?’

‘No, we’ve got a new doctor. I did tell you.’

Thea enters the room. It’s small, the ceiling and walls slope so much that she has to fight the impulse to bend her head. Jan-Olof’s mother is in bed. She’s a big woman with lank grey hair; her cheeks and nose are covered in a network of broken capillaries. The air is filled with a sweet yet acrid smell of alcohol and urine. Thea blinks a couple of times.

‘Oh, so you’re the new one, are you?’

‘Yes – Thea Lind.’ She holds out her hand. ‘And you must be Gertrud.’

The woman looks her up and down.

‘Well, aren’t you the little china doll. Are you sure you’re a doctor?’

‘You’ll soon find out.’ Thea opens her bag.

Gertrud glares at her. ‘I don’t like doctors. Bigheads, the lot of them.’

‘That’s true. You have to be a bighead, otherwise you don’t get into medical school.’

Gertrud gives a start. ‘Is she trying to be funny, Jan?’

Jan-Olof mumbles something from a corner. He seems to be making every effort to avoid eye contact with both Thea and his mother.

Thea pulls on her Latex gloves.

‘Shall we take a look at that pressure sore?’

Gertrud continues to glare for a few more seconds, then she folds back the covers and allows Thea to examine her.

‘You’re Ingrid Nordin’s daughter-in-law, aren’t you?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Ingrid’s a stuck-up bitch who—’

‘Mother!’

‘What? It’s true. Ingrid thinks she’s better than everybody else, thinks she’s got the right to have a finger in every pie just because her family has lived in Tornaby for seven generations or whatever it is. She drags poor Bertil around as if he’s an oily rag. Once upon a time people were afraid of him, can you imagine that?’

She nudges Thea with an elbow.

‘So I’ve heard.’ Thea tries to sound as if the topic doesn’t really interest her.

‘Do you know why? Because Bertil was in charge of the bank. He knew who was short of money, who was about to get divorced, who was tucking away cash instead of paying the tax man. Bertil knew everyone’s secrets. Even the count had to kowtow to him and Ingrid. People still kiss their arses out of pure fear, although these days it’s mostly Ingrid, since she took over as the chair of the Bokelund Foundation. She’s ruthless, your mother-in-law. Never forgets an injustice.’

‘Mother!’

‘Yes, yes.’ Gertrud waves a dismissive hand at her son. ‘I’m sure the doctor knows what I mean.’

Thea straightens up, removes her gloves.

‘There, you’ve got a nice fresh dressing. I’ll come back and take another look next week.’

Gertrud looks disappointed, as if she’d expected Thea to be shocked by what she’d said. She mutters something in response, then pulls up the covers and turns away.

*

Jan-Olof follows Thea down the stairs.

‘I must apologise,’ he says when they reach the porch. ‘She doesn’t mean what she said. Father died in ’91; Bertil helped her to hold onto the house and sorted out a job for her. Without Bertil and Ingrid . . .’ He glances anxiously up the stairs. ‘You won’t mention this to them, will you? Or to David?’

Thea shakes her head. ‘I never discuss my patients with anyone outside the practice. That would be a breach of patient confidentiality.’

Jan-Olof gives a smile that manages to be both worried and grateful.

‘You must have known David pretty well back then,’ Thea goes on. ‘I’m guessing he was pretty cocky in those days.’

Jan-Olof looks uncomfortable, then smiles.

‘He was. David was always the most confident of us all.’

‘And Nettan was the centre of attention?’

He nods, apparently enjoying the topic of conversation now.

‘What about Sebastian?’

‘He was more cautious. Wanted to think through everything.’

‘Aha, so he was the planner. And who were you?’

Jan-Olof thinks for a moment.

‘I guess I was the one who followed. Did what the others told me to do. That’s probably why I never got away from here. Plus I had Mother, of course.’

Thea decides to seize the opportunity.

‘Elita Svart,’ she says. Jan-Olof’s expression darkens immediately. ‘You were there the night she died.’

She takes the Polaroid out of her inside pocket.

‘That’s the four of you, isn’t it? David, Nettan, Sebastian and you. With Elita.’

Jan-Olof half-turns away, but can’t help turning back to look at the photograph.

Thea holds it a little closer to him. ‘Which of the animals are you?’

‘The fox. I was the fox. I’ve always liked foxes.’

‘And what did you see that night?’

He shrugs. ‘I saw a horse, and a rider dressed up. We thought he was the Green Man, so we ran for our lives. Why do you ask?’

‘Are you absolutely certain it was Leo you saw?’

He shakes his head. ‘It was so many years ago – I don’t remember.’

A lie, she’s sure of it. Something about this slightly scruffy man tells her that he remembers every single second, but how is she going to persuade him to talk.

‘Why do you ask?’ he says again.

‘I . . .’ She takes a deep breath. ‘I was involved in an incident in Syria about twelve months ago. The hospital where I was working was bombed.’

Jan-Olof seems to be listening carefully.

‘People around me were killed, injured.’ She pauses. The story makes her feel sick, but she has to continue.

‘I still have nightmares about it. Down to the last detail. The sights, the