The Lost Boy

Mamma’s boy. He didn’t want her to suffer a scolding for his sake, even though after forty years with her husband, she knew that Gunnar’s bark was worse than his bite. In fact, it would be hard to find a kinder man. She knew that the problem was hers, that she worried too much.

‘I’m sorry, Matte. Of course you don’t have to eat any more.’

She called him by the nickname that he’d had since he first learned to talk but couldn’t say his name properly. He’d called himself Matte, and everybody else had done the same.

‘Guess who’s home for a visit,’ she went on, cheerfully, reaching for the plates so she could clear the table.

‘I have no idea.’

‘Nathalie.’

Matte gave a start and looked at her.

‘Nathalie? My Nathalie?’

Gunnar chuckled. ‘I knew that would wake you up. You’ve always had a bit of a crush on her.’

‘Hey, knock it off.’

Signe suddenly pictured in her mind the teenage boy, a lock of hair falling into his eyes, as he told her with a stammer that he had a girlfriend.

‘I took some groceries over to her today,’ said Gunnar. ‘She’s over on Ghost Isle.’

‘Oh, don’t call it that.’ Signe shuddered. ‘Its name is Gråskär.’

‘When did she arrive?’ asked Matte.

‘Yesterday, I think. And she has the boy with her.’

‘How long is she staying?’

‘She said she doesn’t know.’ Gunnar stuck a wad of snuff under his upper lip and contentedly leaned back in his chair.

‘Was she … was she the same?’

Gunnar nodded. ‘Sure, of course she was just the same, our little Nathalie. Exactly the same. Although I thought she had a slightly sad look in her eyes, but maybe that’s my imagination. Maybe they had a quarrel back home. What do I know?’

‘Don’t go speculating about such matters,’ Signe scolded him. ‘Did you see the boy?’

‘No. Nathalie met me down at the dock, and I didn’t stay long. Why don’t you go out there and say hello?’ Gunnar said, turning to Matte. ‘I’m sure she’d be happy to have a visitor out there on Ghost Isle. Sorry. I mean, Gråskär,’ he added, giving his wife an annoyed look.

‘That’s all a bunch of nonsense and old superstitions. I don’t think we should be encouraging that sort of thing,’ said Signe, a deep furrow appearing between her brows.

‘Nathalie believes it,’ said Matte quietly. ‘She always said that she knew they were there.’

‘What do you mean by “they”?’ Much as Signe would have preferred to change the subject, she was curious to hear what Matte would say.

‘The dead. Nathalie said that she sometimes she saw them and heard them, but they didn’t mean any harm. They just ended up staying there.’

‘That’s awful. Now I think it’s time for dessert. I’ve made rhubarb pudding.’ Signe stood up abruptly. ‘Pappa’s right about one thing, though, even if he does talk a lot of drivel. It would make her happy to have you visit.’

Matte didn’t reply. He looked as if he were far away in his thoughts.

FJÄLLBACKA 1870 (#ulink_0902d7b6-b5e6-5d6f-aec8-d51b8e681173)

Emelie was terrified. She had never even seen the sea, let alone sailed on it in what seemed to be a very unstable boat. She had a tight grip on the railing. It felt as if she was being tossed forward and backward by the waves, with no chance of putting up any resistance or governing her own body. She sought Karl’s eye, but he was standing there with a resolute expression, staring out at what awaited them far ahead.

The words were still ringing in her ears. They were probably nothing more than the superstitious ramblings of an old woman, but she couldn’t help thinking about them. The woman had asked where they were headed when they loaded their belongings on to the small sailboat down at the Fjällbacka harbour.

‘Gråskär,’ Emelie had answered happily. ‘My husband Karl is the new lighthouse keeper on the island.’

The woman didn’t seem impressed. Instead, she had snorted and with a strange little smile she said, ‘Gråskär? Oh, I see. In these parts nobody calls it Gråskär.’

‘Is that right?’ Emelie had the feeling that she really shouldn’t ask, but her curiosity got the better of her. ‘So what do you call it then?’

At first the old woman didn’t reply. Then she lowered her voice and said, ‘In these parts we call it Ghost Isle.’

‘Ghost Isle?’ Emelie’s nervous laughter had carried over the water in the early morning haze. ‘How strange. Why?’

The old woman’s eyes glittered when she spoke. ‘Because it’s said that those who die out there never leave the island.’ Then she turned on her heel and left Emelie standing there among all the bags and suitcases, with an awful lump in her stomach instead of the joy and anticipation that had filled her only a few moments ago.

And now it felt as if she might meet death at any second. The sea was so vast, so untamed, and it seemed to be drawing her towards it. She couldn’t swim. If any of the waves, which looked so big even though Karl said they were only small swells, should capsize the boat, she was convinced that she would be pulled down into the deep. She gripped the railing harder, fixing her eyes on the floor, or the deck as Karl claimed it was called.

‘Over there is Gråskär.’

Karl’s voice demanded that she look, so she took a deep breath and raised her eyes to stare in the direction he was pointing. Her first thought was that the island was so beautiful. The cottage, though small, seemed to sparkle in the sunlight, and the grey rocks gleamed. She saw hollyhocks growing at one end of the house, and she was amazed that they could thrive in such a barren setting. To the west the island shoreline was very steep, as if the cliffs had been sheared in half. But in the other directions the rocks sloped gradually towards the water.

Suddenly the waves didn’t seem so rough. She still longed to feel solid ground under her feet, but Gråskär had already enchanted her. And she pushed the old woman’s words about Ghost Isle to the very back of her mind. Something that was so beautiful couldn’t possibly conceal anything bad.

2 (#ulink_3b63fcef-7d81-5153-9706-38ff17cd6084)

She had heard them in the night. The same whispering, the same voices that she recalled from when she was a child. Her watch told her that it was three a.m. when she awoke. At first she didn’t know what had caused her to wake up. Then she heard them. They were talking downstairs. A chair scraped. What did the dead talk about with each other? About things that had happened before they died? Or about what was taking place now, many years later?

Nathalie had been aware of their presence on the island for as long as she could remember. Her mother had said that, even as a baby, Nathalie would suddenly start laughing and waving her arms, as if she saw things that no one else could see. As she grew older, she became more and more conscious of them. A voice, something flitting past, the feeling that somebody else was in the room. But they didn’t mean her any harm. She knew that back then, and she knew that now. For a long time she lay awake, listening to them until the voices finally lulled her back to sleep.

When morning arrived, she remembered the sounds as nothing more than a far-away dream. She made breakfast for herself and Sam, but he refused to eat his favourite cereal.

‘Please, sweetie. Just one spoonful. Just a teeny bit?’ she coaxed him but was unable to get him to take a single bite. With a sigh she put down the spoon. ‘You have to eat, you know.’ She stroked his cheek.

He hadn’t uttered a word since everything happened. But Nathalie pushed her concern to a far corner of her mind. She needed to allow him time and not try to pressure him; she simply had to be available to him as he processed the memories, putting them away and replacing them with others. And there was no better place to do that than here on Gråskär, far away from everything else, near the cliffs, the sun, and the salty sea.

‘You know what, let’s skip breakfast and go out for a swim instead.’ When she received no answer, she simply picked him up and carried him outside into the sun. Tenderly she took off his clothes and carried him down to the water, as if he were only a year old and not a big boy of five. The water wasn’t very warm, but he offered no objections as she sank down, immersing both of them while pressing his head protectively to her chest. This was the best medicine. They would stay here until the storm subsided. Until everything was back to normal.

‘I didn’t think you’d come in until Monday,’ said Annika, peering over the tops of her computer glasses to look at Patrik. He had stopped in the doorway to her office, which was also the station’s reception area.

‘Erica threw me out. She claimed she was sick and tired of seeing my ugly mug at home.’ He attempted a laugh, but thoughts of the previous day were still with him, so the laugh didn’t reach his eyes.

‘I know exactly what she means,’ said Annika, but her expression was as melancholy as Patrik’s. The death of a child affected everyone. Since Annika and her husband Lennart had learned that they would soon be able to bring home their long-awaited adoptive child from China, she was even more sensitive when it came to children who were hurt or harmed in some way.