ELLEN

10.00 P.M.

Darkness had settled over Örelo, and there was no wind. The air was humid and the heat still potent. The island felt deserted, the buzzing of insects the only sound. Margareta’s car was not in the parking area, and Ellen’s initial thought was one of relief. She didn’t have the energy to talk any more today, she was much too fragile, even as she felt so alone.

She hardly knew what she’d been doing since she’d seen Dr Hiralgo earlier in the day. As with last time, she drove around aimlessly, trying to sort out her thoughts. She’d called Jimmy several times, but he still wasn’t answering, and that made her sad. For once, though, she’d accepted and embraced the feeling. Allowed herself to be sad.

Ellen went in through the kitchen entrance, which was unlocked as usual. She kicked off her shoes and drank a glass of water before she went on, past the lounge rooms, the library, and out into the big hall. She was barefoot and didn’t want to go into the big rooms without shoes. When she was little, she’d been told that the wood was toxic. If you got a splinter, you could be poisoned. A truth she hadn’t re-evaluated as an adult, it had stuck with her, and whether or not it was true, she still had a fear of it. In any case, the dark rooms didn’t look particularly inviting.

She stopped in front of the long, curved stone staircase that led to the top floor. They rarely used it, only if they had guests, and that probably hadn’t happened since Elsa had disappeared. She stared up into the darkness.

There were creaks and noises all around her, almost as if the old castle wanted to tell her something. She had to struggle not to let fear take over. They were sounds she would never get used to. She couldn’t for the life of her understand that her mother lived there alone.

‘Hello?’ she called instinctively, but only got an echo in response. ‘Hello?’ Still only the echo, bouncing back.

The old paintings on the walls were hard to make out in the darkness, and even though she knew the subjects well, they felt threatening.

Ellen thought about everything that had been said today. Tried to make sense of all the loose threads, but didn’t know where to begin. She twirled around a few times on the cool stone floor, and then went into the pitch-black TV room. Margareta’s worn armchair stood empty. She turned on the floor lamp and glanced at the crossword puzzles on the coffee table. For some reason, it gave her a stab in the chest: Margareta’s loneliness became so real that it filled the whole room. There were photos hanging on the walls. Ellen looked at them one at a time. They were family photos. Pictures of Ellen and Elsa and big brother Peder in various perfect configurations. It was as if time had stopped right then and there.

She went over to the desk and turned on the library lamp. The green light lit up the empty, tidy surface. When she was younger, the drawers and cabinets had always been locked, but now that Margareta lived alone, there would be no reason to lock them, would there? Ellen turned the handle and pulled out the top drawer. Instinctively, she closed it again. She had no right to root around in her mother’s things, that had been ingrained in her. After just a few seconds, she pulled the drawer out again anyway.

It was stuffed full of things, and Ellen smirked at how nice it looked on the surface, while great disorder prevailed below.

There were books about twins. Identical twins. She picked up one of them and read a little. ‘What Twins Can Feel for Each Other’. These were old books, from the eighties. Ellen could imagine that a lot had happened on the research front since then. Losing a Twin. She read the back cover. ‘You may feel guilt about being the one who survived, when it really ought to have been the opposite.’ Blah, blah, blah, she thought, putting the book back. But the truth was that that was exactly how it was, she just didn’t like reading about it like that, as if there was a template for how you should feel.

At that time, having twins hadn’t been as common, or at least, it was treated as if it wasn’t. Today, it felt like every other couple had twins. She could really see how her mother had managed to make a big deal of having had twins. The lady with the twins. Mistress of a castle with twins. Ellen and Elsa von Platen, as they were called then. Maybe that identity had disappeared for Margareta when Elsa died?

In addition to the books, the drawer was full of various documents and envelopes, and Ellen let her hand rummage around among them.

There were little matchboxes and other odds and ends that her mother had collected over the years. She picked up a thick, over-stuffed envelope that appeared to be rather old.

She heard a sound and jumped. The envelope slipped out of her hands and the contents fell out onto the floor.

Ellen crouched down to gather up the papers and saw that they were invoices. She picked one up and read it. It was from Didrik. She picked up another one. Also an invoice from Didrik. Grain. The most recent one had been sent only two weeks ago. It was so much money. Why was her mother buying grain from Didrik? A new sound stopped her reading more. Ellen pushed the invoices into the envelope and went to put it back in the drawer.

‘What are you doing?’ Margareta came towards her. ‘You have no right to snoop in my desk.’

‘Sorry, but I found an envelope.’

‘That’s not anything you need to worry yourself about.’

‘Why not? Have you been buying grain from Didrik?’

‘It’s none of your business, but yes. It’s fodder, for the pigs.’

‘But I thought that was the whole idea, that we grew the fodder ourselves in our own fields.’

‘It’s not that simple.’

‘No, sorry. I wasn’t meaning to criticise you. I just thought it looked like a lot of money per month.’ Was Didrik cheating her mother? ‘I think you’re doing a first-rate job with the estate. Sorry.’ She placed her hand on Margareta’s shoulder and met her tired gaze.