Karin Alvtegen - Missing

'Go talk to her. I mean, it's not as if we've figured anything new yet. I'll stay here, just checking it out a bit more.'

He was right. Of course they couldn't just leave now.

Gunvor Stromberg did not acknowledge Sibylla's presence in any way. Only when Sibylla cleared her throat noisily did her companion take her eyes away from the lake and raise a hand to wipe her face.

Still Gunvor did not turn round.

'It's a very nice place, this.'

No reply. For a while they stood together without speaking. Sibylla thought that sooner or later the silence would force the other woman to say something.

Looking at the wonderful view, Sibylla realised that this was the place she had always dreamt of. The quiet seclusion, the lovely natural setting. Not that she would ever be able to afford something like this. Besides, soon she wouldn't be able to buy anything at all. Suddenly Gunvor spoke, turning towards Sibylla.

I suppose I'd better tell you myself, you'd only hear the rumours if I don't. You are not from round here, are you?' 'No, we're not.' 'I thought so.'

Sibylla took a few steps forward to stand closer to the distressed woman. Silence was still her best policy.

'Six days ago, my husband was murdered in this house.'

Unobserved, Sibylla still acted out a silent reaction of surprise.

'The murderer wasn't local, if you're worrying about that.'

Sibylla had glimpsed enough of her face to see the tears flowing down Gunvor's cheeks.

'Is that why you want to sell your cottage?'

Gunvor sobbed, shaking her head at the same time.

'No, no. We'd planned to sell, but maybe in the spring when the prices are better.'

She sheltered her face behind her right hand, as if to hide her crying from Sibylla.

'Soren had been ill for quite a long time. Cancer of the liver. Just over a year ago he had major surgery and it went better than we dared hope. They gave him a forty-four per cent chance of surviving.'

She was shaking her head now.

'I suppose I'd started hoping again. He was taking his medicines and had regular check-ups. Things seemed all right. Well, he was often tired, no wonder, but he didn't like not being able to do what he used to. We thought keeping the cottage might become too much and anyway, we could go travelling together with the money. After all, he mightn't… have that much time left.'

She stopped and Sibylla put her hand on Gunvor's shoulder Gunvor started sobbing again when she felt the light touch.

'We spent as much time here as we could. Drove here the moment we were free.'

'Maybe you prefer not to sell immediately?'

Gunvor shook her head.

'I don't want to stay here any more. I don't like going into that house.'

Suddenly the silence was shattered by a flourish on a trumpet. Sibylla took her hand away and looked around in bewilderment.

'That Magnusson, a neighbour. When he's here, he plays reveille every morning and lights-out every night. It's from sheer joy at being here, he says.'

Gunvor had to smile a little, despite her grief. Sibylla closed her eyes, briefly dreaming of living in this place. Imagine having a neighbour, at a safe distance, who announced his presence with tunes on a trumpet, played from happiness. The dream of being happy.

'How much are you looking for? For the house?'

'The agent says I shouldn't go below 300,000…'

Sibylla's hope went out like a light.

'… but as far as I'm concerned, what's important is who buys it.' Their eyes met.

'Soren and I built it back in 1957, struggling like anything to make ends meet. We've put so much of ourselves into this place, lived through so many things here. I still can't quite believe I can just move away. That the house will still be here, but with someone else inside it. Not us any more.'

She pulled her jacket closer around her body.

'As if we had never mattered.'

Sibylla protested, with real feeling.

'But you have mattered, of course you have. That's what makes it all so wonderful. The house bears witness to your lives here. The whole place does. Your feet made this path down to the lake and it will always be here. You planted the shrubs. Everything. I have never done anything that will live when I'm dead. Nothing to remind people that I was around.'

She stopped abruptly. What was all this in aid of? Why not give her name while she was at it?

'But you've got a son.'

Sibylla cleared her throat, embarrassed.

'Of course I do. I don't know what came over me.'

She turned to call.

'Patrik! I think we'd better go. We'll miss the bus!'

Gunvor looked concerned.

'Didn't you come by car?'

'No. We took a taxi here, actually.'

'I'll drive you to town. I'm leaving anyway.'

They made it to the bus terminal with only minutes to spare. Sibylla took awindow seat. Clutched in her hand was a note with Gunvor Stromberg's telephone number, in case she decided to buy.

She put the note away in her pocket. Patrik was looking at her eagerly.

'Did you find out something?'

'I'm not sure. Probably not. She didn't say anything about the murder. He had cancer, badly. He had a big operation just a year or so ago.'

Patrik sounded disappointed.

'You should've asked about the murder.'

'Easier said than done.'

A moment later Patrik started examining his sheets of paper again. He had written something on the back of one them. 'What have you got there?'

I copied a little from his hospital notes. Found them in a folder in her shoulder-bag.' She was shocked. 'You rooted about in her bag?' 'Sure did. Do you want to find out stuff or not?' A worse worry occurred to her. 'Hey, did you nick anything?' 'Yeah, of course. Stacks of cash.'

She made a face at him, reaching out her hand for his notes. He snatched back the sheet of paper. 'How come you're loaded?' 'What's your problem?'

'Why hang out in an attic when you're carrying bundles of grands in a purse round your neck?' 'That's my business.'

At first she didn't care if he started sulking again. He crossed his arms over his chest and turned away demonstratively. They were already driving into Soderkoping when she finally admitted to herself that she owed him an explanation.

'It's my savings.'

He turned towards her.

Then she told him all of it, about her dream. The house that would open up a new life for her and about her mother's hand-outs, which had stopped when she hit the news.

He listened with interest. When she had finished, he held out his notes.

'There you are.'

He had been busy, copying lists of hospital stays and operations. She ignored the many incomprehensible expressions and abbreviations, until she was pulled up short by a combination of words she had come across before. Sandimmun Neoral.

Someone had said that recently. Or had she read it? Patrik observed her reaction.

'What's up?'

She shook her head thoughtfully, pointing at the phrase.

'I'm not sure. Here, look, where it says Sandimmun Neoral, fifty milligrams. I cannot work out why I recognise this.'

'Seems to be some kind of medicine? Do you know what it's for?'

'Not a clue.'

'I know, Fiddie's mum is a doctor. I'll ask her.'

Brilliant. You just go ahead and ask Fiddie's mum why a patient should take Sandimmun Neoral. She must be used to teenagers asking her things like that on a daily basis. She smiled at him, wanting to take his hand. Better not.

'Patrik.'

'Ummm.'

'Thank you for everything, for your help.'

He seemed embarrassed.

'Oh, come on. I haven't helped any, not yet.'

Her smile grew broader.

'You really have.'

She spent the night in the attic of Patrik's block of flats. He let her in and she took up residence in an unused box-room. It had been hard for her to calm down. It was not hunger that kept her awake, because Patrik had brought her sandwiches. Her mind was stuffed with experiences and she needed to process them. Thoughts and images were flickering behind her eyelids. When she finally fell asleep she had been thinking for hours.