them.
Time to get out Ernst’s garden furniture. It was made of cane, like something you might find on a plantation veranda in the jungle.
The telephone in the kitchen started ringing as he was standing in the doorway with the first chair in his hands.
‘Jesper?’ he shouted. ‘Can you get that?’
He didn’t know where his son was, but there was no response.
The telephone rang again, and after the fourth ring he put the chair down and went to answer it.
‘Per Mörner.’
‘Hello?’ said a slurred voice. ‘Pelle?’
It was his father again, of course. Per closed his eyes wearily and thought that Jerry could have afforded to build one of those luxury villas by the quarry. Well, ten or fifteen years ago, anyway. But Per had never seen any of his money, and since the stroke Jerry’s finances were uncertain, to say the least. He was no longer able to work.
‘Where are you calling from, Jerry? Where are you?’
There was a hissing noise on the line before the answer came: ‘Ryd.’
‘OK, so you’ve arrived. You were going to go up to the studio, weren’t you?’
‘To see Bremer,’ said Jerry.
‘I understand. You’re at Bremer’s now.’
But Jerry hesitated, and Per went on, ‘Haven’t you seen Hans Bremer? Wasn’t he going to pick you up?’
‘Not here.’
Per wondered if Jerry was drunk and confused, or merely confused.
‘Go home then, Jerry,’ he said firmly. ‘Go the station and hop on the next bus back to Kristianstad.’
‘Can’t.’
‘Yes you can, Jerry. Off you go.’
There was a silence once more. ‘Fetch me, Pelle?’
Per hesitated. ‘No. It’s impossible.’
Silence at the other end of the phone. ‘Pelle … Pelle?’
Per clutched the receiver more tightly. ‘I haven’t got time, Jerry,’ he said. ‘I’ve got Jesper here, and Nilla will be coming soon … I have to check with them first.’
But his father had put the phone down.
Per knew where the village of Ryd was. Two hours by car – that was how long it would take from Öland. Too long, really. But the conversation with Jerry had left him uneasy.
Keep an eye on him , his mother had once said.
Anita had never referred to her ex-husband by name. And it was Per who had kept in touch with Jerry and told her what he was up to, year after year. The trips he had made, the women he had met. It was an obligation he had never asked for.
He had promised Anita that he would keep an eye on Jerry. But the promise had been made on certain conditions, one of which was that he never saw his father alone.
Per decided: he would go down to Ryd.
Jesper could stay here. He and Nilla had only met their grandfather on a handful of occasions, for a few hours each time, and that was no doubt for the best.
Not letting his children associate with Jerry had been one of Per’s best decisions.
11
Vendela quickly realized that her curiosity about their new neighbours in the village was not mutual.
When she went round to invite people to the party, she started by trying to find houses in the rest of the village that were actually inhabited. It was hopeless. She walked along the coast road that swept around the deep inlet, but didn’t see a soul. There was nothing but closed-up houses with shutters covering the windows – and when she rang the bell at those without shutters, no one answered. From time to time she got the feeling that somebody was at home, but didn’t want to show themselves.
It wasn’t until she reached the southern end of the village and knocked on the door of the little house next to the kiosk that somebody answered. A short, white-haired man with sooty hands, as if he were busy with a chimney or a boat engine. Vendela decided not to shake hands.
‘Hagman, John Hagman,’ he said when she introduced herself.
When she told him about the party, he merely nodded. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘So you live up by the quarry?’
‘That’s right, we’ve—’
‘Do you need any help in the garden? I can dig
Time to get out Ernst’s garden furniture. It was made of cane, like something you might find on a plantation veranda in the jungle.
The telephone in the kitchen started ringing as he was standing in the doorway with the first chair in his hands.
‘Jesper?’ he shouted. ‘Can you get that?’
He didn’t know where his son was, but there was no response.
The telephone rang again, and after the fourth ring he put the chair down and went to answer it.
‘Per Mörner.’
‘Hello?’ said a slurred voice. ‘Pelle?’
It was his father again, of course. Per closed his eyes wearily and thought that Jerry could have afforded to build one of those luxury villas by the quarry. Well, ten or fifteen years ago, anyway. But Per had never seen any of his money, and since the stroke Jerry’s finances were uncertain, to say the least. He was no longer able to work.
‘Where are you calling from, Jerry? Where are you?’
There was a hissing noise on the line before the answer came: ‘Ryd.’
‘OK, so you’ve arrived. You were going to go up to the studio, weren’t you?’
‘To see Bremer,’ said Jerry.
‘I understand. You’re at Bremer’s now.’
But Jerry hesitated, and Per went on, ‘Haven’t you seen Hans Bremer? Wasn’t he going to pick you up?’
‘Not here.’
Per wondered if Jerry was drunk and confused, or merely confused.
‘Go home then, Jerry,’ he said firmly. ‘Go the station and hop on the next bus back to Kristianstad.’
‘Can’t.’
‘Yes you can, Jerry. Off you go.’
There was a silence once more. ‘Fetch me, Pelle?’
Per hesitated. ‘No. It’s impossible.’
Silence at the other end of the phone. ‘Pelle … Pelle?’
Per clutched the receiver more tightly. ‘I haven’t got time, Jerry,’ he said. ‘I’ve got Jesper here, and Nilla will be coming soon … I have to check with them first.’
But his father had put the phone down.
Per knew where the village of Ryd was. Two hours by car – that was how long it would take from Öland. Too long, really. But the conversation with Jerry had left him uneasy.
Keep an eye on him , his mother had once said.
Anita had never referred to her ex-husband by name. And it was Per who had kept in touch with Jerry and told her what he was up to, year after year. The trips he had made, the women he had met. It was an obligation he had never asked for.
He had promised Anita that he would keep an eye on Jerry. But the promise had been made on certain conditions, one of which was that he never saw his father alone.
Per decided: he would go down to Ryd.
Jesper could stay here. He and Nilla had only met their grandfather on a handful of occasions, for a few hours each time, and that was no doubt for the best.
Not letting his children associate with Jerry had been one of Per’s best decisions.
11
Vendela quickly realized that her curiosity about their new neighbours in the village was not mutual.
When she went round to invite people to the party, she started by trying to find houses in the rest of the village that were actually inhabited. It was hopeless. She walked along the coast road that swept around the deep inlet, but didn’t see a soul. There was nothing but closed-up houses with shutters covering the windows – and when she rang the bell at those without shutters, no one answered. From time to time she got the feeling that somebody was at home, but didn’t want to show themselves.
It wasn’t until she reached the southern end of the village and knocked on the door of the little house next to the kiosk that somebody answered. A short, white-haired man with sooty hands, as if he were busy with a chimney or a boat engine. Vendela decided not to shake hands.
‘Hagman, John Hagman,’ he said when she introduced herself.
When she told him about the party, he merely nodded. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘So you live up by the quarry?’
‘That’s right, we’ve—’
‘Do you need any help in the garden? I can dig
Similar Books
