Karin Alvtegen - Missing

'I want you to tell me about your child's father. Who is he?' Sibylla did not answer.

'Was it the youth with the car? That Mikael Persson? Was it?'

'Might have been. Why? What does it matter?'

She could not stop herself. Her mother was trying hard to control her anger, but Sibylla wasn't going to help her. Not any more.

‘I just wanted to let you know that he's not in Hultaryd any more. All the motor sports people had to go. Your father owned that property and he decided it was convenient to have it knocked down. I gather that Mikael has moved out of town.'

Sibylla had to smile. It was not the prospect of the YPSMS building being demolished that made her grimly amused, but the likelihood that her mother was not quite normal, mentally. It was the first time she was able to contemplate the possibility. Mum really seemed to believe that she was almighty.

‘I thought you'd better know.'

Beatrice obviously felt everything necessary had been said and was about to leave the room. Her daughter's question hit her halfway across the floor.

'Why did you have a baby?'

Beatrice Forsenström's left foot stuck in the rug. She turned. Sibylla saw something new in her mother's eyes. She had never noticed it before, but now it was unmistakable.

It was fear. Beatrice was afraid of her own daughter.

'Was it because Granny thought it was time for you to produce a child?'

Her mother remained speechless.

'Are you happy to be a mother? At having a daughter?'

They kept staring at each other. Sibylla felt the baby stirring a little inside her.

'What did Granny make of me having a mental illness? Or haven't you told her?'

Suddenly her mother's lower lip started trembling.

'Why do you do this to me?'

Sibylla snorted.

'Why do I do this to YOU? You've got to be fucking insane.'

The swearword tipped Beatrice back into normal mode.

'We don't use words like that in this house.'

‘Is that so? You don't, maybe. But I do! Fuck, FUCK, FUCK.'

He mother was backing away in the direction of the door. Now she was thinking of phoning the hospital. Clearly she had a madwoman in the house.

'Oh, Mummy, why don't you run away and phone. With any luck you'll get rid of me once and for all.' Beatrice had pulled the door open.

'Meanwhile I'll eat all my vegetables. In case that child might be harmed if I didn't.'

Beatrice threw a last terrified glance in her direction and disappeared. When Sibylla heard her hurried steps down the stairs, she ran out on the landing. She watched her mother dash across the hall in the direction of Mr Forsenström's study. Sibylla shouted after her.

'You forgot to answer my question!'

No response from downstairs.

Sibylla went back and faced the food-tray. Boiled carrots and peas. She grabbed then plate in both hands and flung it into the waste-paper basket.

Then she pulled out a suitcase and started packing.

She woke when he opened the door. Before she had time to do anything, he had already got down the few steps and looked around before striding across the floor. He still hadn't seen her.

She was lying very still, watching him.

Slight build, blond. Wire-rimmed spectacles.

He stepped up on the small platform below the clock, bent forward and put his face against the clock-face. He stretched out his arms towards the perimeter and in the light falling in through the glass, he looked like a crucified figure of Jesus.

Or Da Vinci's Man. Though with aerials attached. It was two minutes before twelve.

She scanned the attic, still motionless. There was a chance of reaching the door in time, but she would have to leave her things. He was standing in a dangerous position. If he lost his balance, he might fall out through the clock-face.

The seconds passed. The longer of his head-aerials made one more forward jump. She hardly dared breathe, terrified of being discovered.

Finally he lowered his arms. The next moment he turned and saw her. The sight scared him, she could see that. He was not only scared but also a little ashamed at having been seen. Neither of them said anything, but they kept staring at each other. His face was in the shade.

How in the name of God would she get out of this? He didn't look very strong. On no account must he be allowed to leave the attic before she had talked to him. She sat up slowly, figuring that it might look threatening if she stood up.

'What are you doing?'Her tone had been hesitant. Although he didn't answer at once, he seemed less tense. 'Nothing special.'

'No? It looked quite alarming from over here.'

He shrugged his shoulders.

'What about you. What are you doing here?'

Good question. What am I doing here?

'I was just… having a rest.'

'Are you sleeping rough? Or something?'

She smiled. Well, well – he went straight to the point. Usually people tried to avoid facing the misery.

'It's not so rough here as other places.'

'Is it because you're homeless? Like, with nowhere to live?'

Why should she deny it? Anyway, there was no other reasonable explanation to her presence in the attic.

'You could say that.'

He stepped down from the platform.

'That's cool. I want to do that when I leave school.'

He would like to do WHAT?

'Why?'

'Seems brilliant. No one asks you to do things or cares what you do.'

True enough. At least that was one aspect of 'being of no fixed abode'.

'If that's what you really want, there are better ways of going about getting it.' He grinned. 'Tell me about it.'

She still wasn't sure that he was serious. Maybe he was just kidding her.

'Are you a junkie as well?' 'No, I'm not.'

'I thought all you people were junkies. I mean, isn't that why? That's what my Mum says.' 'Mums don't know everything.' 'Is that right?'

He said that with a sneer. She could see that he was not scared any more. He came over to her and she got up. 'Is this all you own?' 'Yes.'

He eyed the sleeping mat and the rucksack. She watched him examining her things. He actually looked quite impressed. 'Dead cool.'

It was strange to be regarded as a model being, just for once. Still, this was enough talking about her.

'What are you doing here? Don't you know the floor is cracking up?'

'Yeah, live dangerously – help, help.'

He showed how little he cared by jumping up and down a couple of times. She put her hand on his arm.

'Hey, stop that. It would be a bore if you went straight through.'

'Oh, come off it.'

He pulled his arm away but stopped jumping. For a while she looked at him in silence. His turning up here suddenly was a threat, but it was still not clear how serious it was. She must find that out before he left. She picked up a crumpled copy of some pupils' handout from the floor, just to make her question seem more casual.

'Do you come here a lot?'

He paused before answering.

'Sometimes.'

He was lying, but she couldn't figure out why.

'Which year are you in?'

'Fifth.'

'What about the rest of the class? When are your mates turning up?'

He shook his head. It dawned on her that he was alone. He comes here, but no one else.

'It's you that fixed the screws in the lock, isn't it?' He inhaled at the same time as he spoke. 'Yup.'

She understood now. This was not one of the sheep, but another goat. Yet one more who had already been excluded from the homogenous mass.

'So what kind of person are you? Do you like school?'

He stared at her, apparently fearing for her sanity.

'Yeah, of course. Fantastic'

Not, in other words. Kids did this irony thing at lot nowadays, or at least the few she'd been talking to did it. He kicked at a textbook on the floor. It bounced against her mat and stopped. Hello there, Mathematics for the Fourth Form.