Camilla Läckberg - The Hidden Child

But the war was over now, and that changed everything. He couldn’t move forward until he had first gone back. It was mostly for his mother’s sake. He felt compelled to find out whether she was all right, and he wanted her to know that he was alive and had found a new home.

Hans reached for a suitcase and began packing enough clothes for a few days. A week at most. He had no intention of being gone any longer than that. He really didn’t want to be away from Elsy. She had become such a vital part of him that he couldn’t bear the thought of being separated from her. He just needed to make this trip, and then they would be together for ever. Every night they would go to bed together, and every morning they would wake up in each other’s arms, without shame and without having to keep their love a secret. He had meant what he’d said about applying to the authorities for permission to wed. Then they could marry before the child was born. He wondered whether it would be a boy or a girl. He smiled again as he stood there, folding up his belongings. A little girl with Elsy’s gentle smile. Or a little boy with his curly blond hair. It really didn’t matter. He would happily take whatever God chose to give them.

Something hard wrapped in a piece of cloth fell out when he took a shirt from a bureau drawer. It clanged as it struck the floor, and Hans quickly bent down to pick it up. He sank down on the bed as he studied the object in his hand. It was the Iron Cross that his father had received in recognition of his services during the first year of the war. Hans stared at it. He had stolen the medal from his father, brought it along as a reminder of what he had fled when he left Norway. It was also a form of insurance in case the Germans had caught him before he managed to escape to Sweden. He should have got rid of the medal long ago, he knew that. If anybody poked around in his belongings and found it, his secret might be revealed. But he needed it. He needed it as a reminder.

He had felt no regret at leaving his father behind. If Hans had had his way, he would never have anything more to do with that man. Reinhardt Wolf stood for all that was wrong with the human race, and Hans was ashamed that at one time in his life he had been too weak to confront his father. Memories raced through his mind. Cruel, ruthless images of deeds carried out by a person with whom he no longer had anything in common. A weak person, someone who had bowed to his father’s will but who in the end had succeeded in tearing himself away. Hans squeezed the medal so hard that the sharp edges cut into his hand. He wasn’t going back to see his father; presumably fate had finally caught up with him, and he had been given the punishment that he deserved. But Hans did need to see his mother. She didn’t deserve to suffer with all the worry that she must be feeling. She’d had no way of knowing whether her son was alive or dead. He wanted a chance to talk to her, show her that he was well, and tell her about Elsy and the baby. And in time he might even be able to persuade her to come to Sweden and live with them. He didn’t think Elsy would have any objections. One of the things he loved about her was that she had a good heart. He thought Elsy and his mother would get along fine.

Hans got up from the bed. After hesitating for a moment, he put the medal back in the drawer. It could stay there until he returned, as a reminder of the person he never wanted to be again. A reminder that he would never again be a weak and cowardly boy. Now, because of Elsy and the baby, it was time to be a man.

He closed the suitcase and looked around the room where he had experienced so much happiness during the past year. His train left in a couple of hours. There was just one more thing he needed to do before leaving. One person he had to talk to. He left the room and closed the door behind him. He had a sudden fateful premonition as he heard the door close. A feeling that something was not going to go well. Then he shook off the feeling and left. He’d be back again in a week.

Erica had insisted on driving alone to Göteborg, even though Patrik had offered to go with her. This was something that she needed to do on her own.

She stood at the door for a moment, trying to make herself lift her hand to ring the bell. Finally she couldn’t put it off any longer.

Märta looked at Erica in surprise when she opened the door, but then stepped aside to let her come in.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ said Erica, feeling her throat go dry all of a sudden. ‘I should have phoned ahead, but…’

‘Oh, don’t worry about that.’ Märta smiled kindly. ‘At my age, I’m just grateful for some company, so this is very nice. Come in, come in.’

Erica followed her down the hall to the living room, where they both sat down. She wondered, panic-stricken, how to begin, but Märta spoke first.

‘Have you made any progress in the murder investigation?’ she asked. ‘I’m sorry that we couldn’t be of more help when you were here last time, but as I said, I really knew nothing about our finances.’

‘I know what the money was for. Or rather, who it was for,’ said Erica. Her heart was thumping in her chest.

Märta gave her a puzzled look but didn’t seem to know what she meant.

With her eyes fixed on the old woman, Erica said gently: ‘In November 1945, my mother gave birth to a son who was immediately put up for adoption. She gave birth at the home of her aunt, in Borlänge. I think the man who was murdered, Erik Frankel, made the payments to your husband on behalf of that child.’

It was utterly silent in the living room. Then Märta looked away. Erica saw that her hands were shaking.

‘I thought as much. But Wilhelm never said anything to me about it, and… well, part of me didn’t want to know. He has always been our son, mine and Wilhelm’s, and we never loved him any less just because I hadn’t given birth to him myself. We’d wanted a child for such a long time, tried for so long, and… well, Göran arrived like a gift from Heaven.’

‘Does he know that…?’

‘That he’s adopted? Yes, we’ve never hidden that fact from him. But to be honest, I don’t think he’s ever given it much thought. We were his parents, his family. We did talk about it on occasion, Wilhelm and I, about how we might feel if Göran wanted to find out more about his… biological parents. But we always told ourselves that we’d cross that bridge when we came to it. And Göran never seemed to want to find out about them, so we let it be.’

‘I like him,’ said Erica impulsively, trying to get used to the idea that the man she had met here last time was actually her brother. Hers and Anna’s, she corrected herself.

‘He liked you too,’ said Märta, her face lighting up. ‘And part of me reacted subconsciously to the fact that you do look a bit alike. There’s something about your eyes… I’m not really sure, but you have similar features.’

‘How do you think he would react if…’ Erica didn’t dare finish her question.

‘Considering how much he always talked about having siblings when he was a child, I think he would welcome a little sister with open arms.’ Märta smiled and seemed to have already recovered from the initial shock.

‘Two sisters,’ Erica said. ‘I have a younger sister named Anna.’

‘Two sisters,’ repeated Märta, shaking her head. ‘How about that? Life never ceases to amaze me. Even at my age.’ Then she turned serious. ‘Would you mind telling me something about your mother… his mother?’ She gave Erica a searching look.

‘I’d be happy to tell you about her,’ said Erica, and then she recounted the story about Elsy and how she came to give up her son for adoption. She talked for a long time, for more than an hour, trying to do justice to her mother and her situation as she talked to this woman who had loved and brought up the son that Elsy had been forced to give away.