Юхан Теорин - The Voices Beyond

All he could hear were the faint sounds of summer. No voices. When he fell asleep last night, the rest of the family had still been awake, celebrating the shortest night of the year in various ways: Mats and his cousins had gone down to the jetty to see if there were any girls around, Jonas’s father had been working as a chef in the village restaurant, which was also owned by the Kloss family, and Aunt Veronica and Uncle Kent had been sitting on the decking together with Veronica’s husband, who was on a flying visit from Stockholm, and Kent’s new girlfriend, whose name Jonas didn’t know. Uncle Kent had had a new girlfriend every summer, ever since Jonas could remember. They didn’t say much, and they didn’t usually stay around for long.

Jonas had been too tired to stay up. He had gone to bed at about ten, and fallen asleep to distant music, quiet voices and loud laughter.

This morning he pulled on his shorts and a thin T-shirt, opened the glass door and went out into the sunshine. It was only eight o’clock, but it was already hot.

The two plots that made up this part of Villa Kloss extended around him, covered in stones, the odd juniper bush and viper’s bugloss. His father used to own the third plot at the southern end, but that was several years ago, before he got involved in some business that didn’t go too well. His summer cottage had been sold, and Jonas noticed that the new owners had put up a fence to separate the place from Villa Kloss.

He was hungry, and hoped there would be something to eat in Uncle Kent’s kitchen.

A wide, gravelled path led past the pool to the main house. The water looked warm and clear, but hardly anyone ever swam in it. The adults never seemed to have time, and Jonas thought it was more fun to go down to the shore. It was somehow wilder down there, with flat rocks and seaweed and tiny shrimps swimming around your legs.

He went up the steps to the wooden decking at the front of the house. This would be Jonas’s workplace for the next few weeks, along with Veronica’s decking. His job was to sand down all the planks, then oil them. His wages would be thirty-five kronor an hour. That was a lot of money — Jonas had said yes straight away.

Uncle Kent’s house was long and wide, with huge panoramic windows at the front. There was also a sliding glass door; Jonas pushed it to one side and went in. He had always thought that walking into this cool room felt like stepping into the command module in a huge spaceship. Not that he had ever done such a thing, but this was what it ought to look like: a rectangular room with enormous windows and electronic gadgets everywhere. There were rows of tiny lights on the ceiling and an impressive stereo next to an even bigger TV, both connected to black speakers built into the wall.

Kent’s golf bag was on the right, next to a treadmill, and beyond that lay the entrance to the kitchen, which was every bit as shiny and metallic as the living room. Various things were humming and flashing in there.

Uncle Kent had employed a young housekeeper from Russia or Poland this summer; she was standing by the worktop, where she had laid out an array of breakfast food: bread, butter, juice, eggs, fruit and four kinds of cereal.

Jonas stared. He was glad he was alone right now, because back home in Huskvarna he always had to wait until Mats had finished helping himself. Now he could just dive right in. He picked up a blue bowl, filled it with cornflakes and milk and sat down on the biggest of Uncle Kent’s black leather sofas. He had a fantastic view of the coast from here: the stony garden, the coast road, the sea and the burial cairn up on the edge of the cliff.

After about fifteen minutes the sliding door opened and Aunt Veronica came in.

‘Good morning, Jonas. Did you sleep well?’

She was already dressed, in a black business suit and red shoes.

Jonas chewed, swallowed and nodded.

‘Mmm.’

‘Are Kent and Niklas here?’

‘I haven’t seen anyone,’ Jonas replied.

‘I expect they’re out jogging,’ Veronica said with a smile.

In the winter Veronica lived in Stockholm with Urban, who was eighteen, and Casper, who was fifteen, and their father, but in the summer she lived here at Villa Kloss; she was the managing director of the Ölandic Resort. She never took any time off during the period when the complex was open, from the end of May to the beginning of September.

‘So what are you going to do today, Jonas? Do you have any plans for the summer?’

He looked out at the wooden decking and nodded.

‘I’m going to make a start on rubbing down the decking.’

‘Not today. It’s Midsummer’s Day, and almost everyone is off work. You, too, Jonas. You’re on holiday.’

That sounded good.

Holiday, Jonas thought. Not a break from school. He hadn’t even started work yet, but he was already on holiday , like a grown-up.

The Ölandic Resort was a couple of kilometres south of Stenvik and was owned by the Kloss family. Lisa was also working at the resort this summer, and she drove down there at lunchtime to get things ready.

At the entrance there was a reception booth and a barrier, and a CCTV camera. She could feel the cold lens staring at her as she wound down the window and gave her name to the security guard, but everything was fine. The barrier was raised and she drove on to a tarmac road, past rows of tents and caravans, down towards the sea and the gleaming white Ölandic Hotel.

It was Midsummer’s Day, the day after the big party. But of course every night was party night at the Ölandic — at least it was in the nightclub in the hotel basement. Two DJs and two cover bands would be working there in shifts right through July, from early evening until late into the night.

This evening was Lady Summertime’s debut, and Lisa wanted to make sure everything went well.

The Ölandic Resort was a custom-built holiday complex with straight roads and huge lawns. The contrast with the little campsite in Stenvik was striking. The Ölandic was a place for thousands of summer visitors to gather in the sun, on the beach, on the golf course, in the hotel and in the nightclub. But as Lisa drove down towards the water she didn’t see many people, and those she did see looked as if they were sleepwalking. People were probably having a lie-in, or sunbathing down on the shore, beyond the dense deciduous forest.

She parked in front of the hotel. It was four storeys high, built on the slope above the beach. The hotel had the best view in the resort, the summer cottages the next best, and the campsite lay furthest away from the sea.

Lisa picked up her CDs and LPs and went inside; the reception area was cool, with goldfish swimming around in a large aquarium on the limestone floor. Two blonde receptionists, both in their twenties and wearing pale-blue blouses, were on duty behind the desk.

The one nearest to Lisa smiled, and Lisa introduced herself.

‘Oh, so you’re Lady Summertime. The club’s downstairs.’

She led the way, but didn’t offer to carry any of Lisa’s records.

A red neon sign above the door read ‘MAY LAI BAR’. The club beyond the cloakroom was large, with tables on the right and a bar made of dark wood running the entire length of the left-hand wall. There wasn’t a soul in sight, but there was a good variety of drinks on the shelves, and green champagne bottles ready and waiting in a glass fridge.

‘The calm before the storm,’ the receptionist said.

‘So does this place get stormy in the evenings?’ Lisa asked.

‘Well, people do like to let rip... It’s full every night in July. Quite a few kids with rich parents come here, with a sports car of their own and Daddy’s credit card.’