She’s on her way now, Mummy, to talk to you.
And in the main square, where the bomb went off, loads of people are gathering.
Really loads.
They’re holding each others’ hands, feeling the spring sunshine on their cheeks, the pure, clear air in their lungs, and lots of them are crying. Mummy, say they’re crying for us, they are, aren’t they, unless they’re also crying for their own sakes?
You’ve got something to tell Malin, Mummy, but the question is whether you can find the words, if you can understand what it is that she needs to hear.
We hope so, but most of all we want to have you here with us, and maybe we will soon, don’t you think?
The evil is moving like lizards with no legs.
Their black tongues licking the air.
The real horror is on the move, and it’s getting closer to you, Mummy, but you can’t run.
And we don’t want to save you, because we want to have you here with us, and then perhaps Daddy will come too.
But, still, Mummy . . .
Tell her what you know, what you can. Try to get it to work, glue and tape and stick all the images, memories and thoughts together, and move your tongue, move it, let it say the words that will make us a family again.
You’re breathing on your own now. The tubes in your nose are gone and the light is quivering in your hospital room, but not the beautiful spring light that’s everywhere out here, but a rotten light.
Keep them away, Mummy, keep them at a distance.
Come to us instead.
Come to us who love you, then we’ll rescue the other children together.
I am someone who breathes.
I know that.
The air fills my lungs and I can see something metal under a ceiling. But my body doesn’t exist, where’s my body, and is that you I can see, children, are you there, girls? And what was it that happened, what was that powerful white light that came and wiped out the sunlight?
I must have eyes.
But have I got arms, legs? And does it really matter? Because what do I want with arms and legs, hands, when I can no longer touch, caress, chase, play with you, girls? Because I know you’re gone, even though you’re here, and I know I don’t want to live without you.
I hear you calling in this dream, which I know isn’t a dream. I want to be with you, but I can’t.
I’m in a hospital, aren’t I? This is a hospital room, and I’m sick. But how am I sick? There’s no physical pain. I should be happy about that.
Tell her, you say. Lead her onwards. But what should I tell her?
I try to say something. But my tongue doesn’t want to move.
Unless . . . yes, it’s moving. But it’s not saying the words that need saying, is it?
The doctor.
He’s standing in front of Malin.
But what’s he saying?
He’s extremely good-looking.
Zeke is standing beside her in the hospital corridor outside Hanna Vigerö’s private room.
Her doctor, Peter, Peter Hamse, is wearing a white coat, and he’s whispering to them, but Malin can’t concentrate on what he’s saying.
You have to, Fors. Pull yourself together.
Is he the one I want?
He’s the same age as her, has no ring on his finger, and they noticed each other over in the office just now, Malin saw that, and she’s still having trouble concentrating on what he’s saying, looking instead at the little dimple in his chin, his sharp nose, his almost perfectly shaped cheekbones.
What’s this spring doing to me?
Have to listen to what he’s saying.
But instead she feels that she wants to drag this Dr Peter Hamse into the nearest toilet, the nearest nurses’ office, the nearest shower room, and just let things happen.
Then she tears her eyes from Peter Hamse and looks along the corridor, and the yellow linoleum floor seems to melt like a layer of piss-stained snow, and the two girls’ faces appear in the window at the far end.
She shuts her eyes.
Suppresses the tingling in her body.
Fends off her lust.
The girls.
What do you want here? You want your mum with you, don’t you?
Then she looks at Zeke, and then at Peter Hamse, who is staring at her now, with interest and warmth, and Zeke grins, shakes his head, then Peter Hamse says: ‘Five minutes. And nice and gentle. Call if there’s any deterioration in her condition.’
Then he turns and walks down the corridor, across the bubbling floor towards the waiting faces of the blown-up girls.
A machine with a flashing green light, bleeping every ten seconds.
A strangely pale yet still intense light, a woman’s heavy breathing, and an aggressive smell of chemicals.
Malin absorbs Hanna Vigerö’s room.
There are tubes attached to her body, the bed is flat, yellow hospital blankets are covering her battered legs, legs she will probably never be able to move again.
Are you here, girls?
You’re here, aren’t you?
Malin can feel them, doesn’t have to see them, isn’t scared of them, wants their help.
Zeke goes around the bed and stops so that he’s shading Hanna Vigerö’s face from the light, and her bruised features are clear, she looks nice, warm and good, what you’d call a decent person, whose life has been shattered into pieces, and who is now lying alone in a hospital room with her head swathed in bandages and a body that would probably really want to stop working.
Malin strokes her cheek, says her name, who they are, tells her what happened without mentioning the girls, and Hanna Vigerö opens her eyes, stares into space with a look of anxiety.
Don’t be scared, Mummy.
She wants to be nice to you.
Don’t be scared of what’s happened.
Soon you’ll be with us.
Pretend it’s our little hands stroking your cheek.
Pretend it’s our warm skin you can feel.
Try to tell her.
You know, you do know.
What are you saying?
Is there someone there? Who’s there? What did you just say? I know what happened to my girls, why you’re here, and I’m trying to tell you something, it’s like I know what I’m supposed to say, but I can’t gather the thoughts, the words, into any sort of order.
The hand, the warmth against my cheek is nice.
Don’t stop, please. Whoever you are. Or is there more than one hand? Yes, it’s your hands, girls, so maybe you do exist outside my dream?
What I saw?
I saw the girls, and the light.
But that’s not what I say.
If I know anything significant? If anyone could have been trying to hurt me, us?
I saw the girls running towards the cashpoint, then I saw a brighter light than I’ve ever seen before. Now I see a face I don’t recognise, and it’s the face of a young woman, not a girl’s face, and she’s looking at me, a friendly, kind look. Her hair is cut in a bob and her mouth is moving and I wish I could hear what she’s saying but I can’t hear anything, and I know my tongue is moving but I don’t know what I’m saying, or what unconscious thoughts precede the words.
It doesn’t make sense.
I don’t make sense.
And I want to come to you, girls, to your daddy.
But I don’t know how to do that.
Tell me, how do you go about dying?
Hanna Vigerö stares, blinks, stares again, and there’s no calm, just fear, almost panic in her eyes, and no matter what Malin asks, her answer is the same.
‘The money, the money, the girls’ money.’
‘Were you going to withdraw money from the cashpoint?’
They’ve got the details from the bank.
The family didn’t have much money, but the girls each had a savings account with a few thousand kronor.
‘Were you going to withdraw the girls’ money?’
‘The money, the girls’ money,’ she whispers again.
Zeke looks at Malin.
Shakes his head, gives her a look that says: we ought to stop now, she’s rambling, she’s stuck in the worst moment of the horror and we shouldn’t keep her there, let’s stop this now, and Malin falls silent, strokes her cheek, sees Hanna Vigerö close her eyes and start to breathe calmly as the words stop flowing from her mouth.
The girls, Malin thinks, then she strokes Hanna Vigerö’s cheek several more times before she stands up.
They leave the hospital room. Out in the corridor Malin takes some deep breaths. Out here the air is different, clearer.
There was a smell of death in there, she thinks.
‘Did you feel it?’ she asks Zeke.
He nods.
Zeke has gone to the toilet, and she is standing on her own with Peter Hamse by the lifts that lead down to the main entrance of the main hospital building.
He’s absurdly handsome, Malin thinks as she hears herself tell him about their conversation with Hanna Vigerö, how she seemed scared and confused, and that she didn’t say anything very significant, just seemed to get caught in the unbearable memory of a terrible moment.
Peter Hamse looks at her with genuine warmth when she says the words ‘terrible moment’, then he says: ‘There’s no need for her to be anxious. I’ll see that she gets a decent shot of tranquillisers. There’s no need for her to be in any pain either.’
‘Will she make it?’ Malin asks.
‘I think so.’
‘But she’ll have lasting injuries?’
Peter Hamse nods.
‘In all likelihood, yes.’
Then they stand there in silence looking at each other, and Malin moves unconsciously closer to him, and he takes a step forward, and Malin notices that she’s swaying, drawn to that dimple in his chin, and then they smile at each other and Peter Hamse throws his arms out and says something about bad timing, and then Malin says: ‘It must be spring.’
‘It must. And the sap is rising,’ Zeke’s voice says, and a minute later they’re standing in the lift, Zeke grinning beside her, and Peter Hamse’s words are ringing inside Malin: ‘I’ll get in touch if anything happens.’
Something has happened, Malin thinks, then feels ashamed of what she can sense going on within her body.
Ashamed because of the girls, and Hanna Vigerö, and Dad and Mum and Tove and Janne, and even Daniel Högfeldt.
‘Go for it, Malin,’ Zeke says. ‘It’s perfectly OK. You might as well let your own sap rise.’
And she tries to laugh at Zeke’s joke, but it doesn’t work, she feels like running down to the Hamlet instead, settling down on a bar stool, and drinking all these damn emotions away, obliterating herself until there are only tiny pieces left.