Camilla Läckberg - The Drowning

The mere thought made him want to crawl into a corner and hide. Shut his eyes tight, so tight that the darkness couldn’t grab hold of him. He refused to think about that. His beautiful mother could not die. Not her too.

He’d found a special place for himself. Up on the slope, with a view of the campground and the water. If he craned his neck, he could even see the roof of their caravan. That’s where he now spent his days, in the one place where he was left in peace. Up there he could make the hours fly by.

Father wanted to go home too. He’d heard him say that. But Mother refused. ‘I’m not going to give the Old Bitch that satisfaction,’ Mother said as she lay on the bunk, looking pale and thinner than usual. She wanted the Old Bitch to know that they’d been here all summer, as usual, though they hadn’t visited her even once. No, they weren’t going home. She’d rather die than leave early.

There was no further discussion. Once Mother had decided something, that was how it had to be. Each day he went out to his special place and sat there with his arms wrapped around his knees as all sorts of thoughts and fantasies raced through his mind.

If only they could go back home, then everything would be the way it used to be. He was sure of it.

‘Don’t run off too far, Rocky!’ Göte Persson shouted, but the dog wasn’t listening, as usual. Göte just managed to catch a glimpse of the golden retriever’s tail before Rocky turned left and disappeared behind a boulder. Göte tried to pick up the pace, but his right leg made that impossible. Since his stroke, his leg had a hard time keeping up with the rest of his body, and yet he still considered himself lucky. The doctors had given him very little hope of ever being able to move much on his own again because his entire right side had been affected. But they hadn’t counted on how stubborn a man he was. Thanks to his God-given tenacity and his physiotherapist, who had pushed him as if he were training for the Olympics, he’d gained greater mobility for every week that passed. Occasionally he’d suffered setbacks, and he had to admit that several times he’d been close to giving up. But he had soldiered on, continually making progress that brought him closer to his goal.

By now he was taking daily one-hour walks with Rocky. He walked slowly, and with a noticeable limp, but he kept on going. They went out no matter what the weather, and each yard forward was a victory.

The dog had come back into view. He was on the beach now, sniffing about near the Sälvik swimming area and glancing up once in a while to make sure his master hadn’t got lost. Göte took the opportunity to pause and catch his breath. For the hundredth time he put his hand in his pocket to touch the mobile phone he’d brought along. Yes, it was still there. Just to make sure, he took it out and checked to see that it was switched on and that he hadn’t accidentally turned off the ringer. He didn’t want to miss a call, but no one had tried to phone him. Impatiently he stuffed the mobile back in his pocket.

He knew it was ridiculous to check the phone every five minutes. They’d promised to ring when they left for the hospital. His first grandchild. His daughter Ina was almost two weeks past her due date, and Göte couldn’t understand how she and her husband could stay so calm. To be honest, he’d heard a trace of annoyance in his daughter’s voice when he’d called for the tenth time that day to ask if anything was happening yet. But he seemed to be considerably more concerned than they were. He’d spent the better part of the last few nights wide awake, staring alternately at the alarm clock and his mobile phone. These kinds of things tended to happen in the middle of the night. And what if he was sleeping too soundly to hear when they called?

He yawned. The night-time vigils had started to take their toll on him. So many emotions had been stirred up inside him when Ina and Jesper announced that they were expecting a child. They’d told him a couple of days after he collapsed and was rushed by ambulance to the hospital in Uddevalla. They had actually planned on waiting to tell him, since it was so early in Ina’s pregnancy, and they’d only just found out themselves. But no one had thought that Göte would survive. They weren’t even sure that he could hear them as he lay in the hospital bed, hooked up to all sorts of tubes and machines.

But he did hear them; he’d heard every single word. And the news had given his stubborn nature something to hold on to. Something to live for. He was going to be a grandfather. His only daughter, the light of his life, was going to have a baby. How could he miss such an import ant occasion? He knew that Britt-Marie was waiting for him, and he actually wouldn’t have minded letting go of life so he could see her again. He had missed her every day, every minute since she died and left him and Ina on their own. But he was needed now, as he explained to Britt-Marie, telling her that he couldn’t join her yet because their daughter needed him here.

Britt-Marie understood. As he knew she would. He had regained consciousness, waking from the sleep that had been so different and in many ways so enticing. He had climbed out of bed, and every step he’d taken since then was for the sake of the little grandson or granddaughter. He had so much to give, and he was planning to use every extra minute of life he’d been granted to spoil his grandchild. Ina and Jesper could protest as much as they liked. It was a grandfather’s prerogative.

The mobile phone in his pocket rang shrilly, making him jump and tearing him away from his thoughts. Eagerly he pulled out the phone, almost dropping it on the ground. He looked at the display. His shoulders sagged with disappointment when he saw the name of a good friend. He didn’t dare answer. He didn’t want his daughter to get a busy signal if she rang.

He couldn’t see Rocky any more, so he put the mobile back in his pocket and limped towards the spot where he’d last seen the dog. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the flash of something bright, and he turned his head to look at the water.

‘Rocky!’ he shouted, alarm evident in his voice. The dog had wandered out on to the ice. He was almost twenty yards out, standing there with his head lowered. When he heard Göte yelling, he started barking wildly and pawing at the ice. Göte held his breath. If it had been a bitterly cold winter, he wouldn’t have been so concerned. Many times, usually just after New Year’s, he and Britt-Marie had packed sandwiches and a thermos of coffee and walked across the ice to one of the nearby islands. But this year the water had alternately frozen and thawed, and he knew the ice wasn’t to be trusted.

‘Rocky!’ he shouted again. ‘Come here!’ He tried to sound as stern as he could, but the dog ignored him.

Göte now had only one thought in his head. He couldn’t lose Rocky. The dog would die if he fell through the ice and landed in the frigid water, and Göte simply couldn’t bear for that to happen. They’d been companions for ten years, and in his mind he had pictured so many scenes of his future grandchild playing with the dog. He just couldn’t imagine being without Rocky.

He walked along the shoreline, then put out one foot to test the ice. Thousands of hairline cracks instantly appeared on the surface, but the ice held. Apparently it was thick enough to bear his weight, so he headed towards Rocky, who was still barking and pawing at the ice.

‘Come here, boy,’ coaxed Göte, but the dog stayed where he was, refusing to budge.

The ice felt more solid here than near the shoreline, but Göte still decided to minimize the risk by lying down on his stomach. With an effort he dropped down and then stretched out, trying to ignore the cold that pierced right through him even though he was bundled up in his winter clothes.