The Circle (16 page)

‘There have been rumours about me,’ Rebecka continues.

Minoo hesitates, unsure whether she should admit she’s heard rumours about Rebecka throughout secondary school. She was one of the girls everyone said had an eating disorder. ‘Was it true?’ she says.

‘Yeah. I suppose it still is. I know it can come back. But it’s been better since last spring. Though I do still think about it. Often.’

‘What does Gustaf say?’

‘We’ve never talked about it, but he probably knows.’ Rebecka meets Minoo’s gaze. ‘I’m just afraid that if he finds out he won’t want to be with me any more. You’re the first person I’ve ever told.’

Minoo wants to say something clever. She wants to show she’s worthy of such trust, wants to help Rebecka with lots of good advice and promise her that everything’s going to be fine. But she realises at once that it’s better to stay quiet. Let Rebecka say whatever she needs to.

‘When I think back to how I was before I got together with Gustaf, it’s like looking at an old black-and-white movie. He sort of brought in all the colour. But I feel as if I still belong to that black-and-white world, and that he’s
going
to realise it at any moment. That I’m not … in colour. If he sees that, everything’s going to come crashing down.’

‘But he loves you. That’s obvious. Maybe you just have to trust in that.’

‘I wish it was that simple,’ Rebecka says.

‘Don’t you love how I’m sitting here giving you advice, me with my huge experience of boys and relationships?’ Minoo says, and Rebecka laughs.

‘Okay, now it’s your turn. Don’t you have any deep dark secrets you want to get off your chest?’

Minoo hesitates. ‘Well, I’ve got a crush on someone I can never be with,’ she says. ‘How immature is that?’

‘Come on. Who is it?’

‘You have to promise not to tell anyone. I mean, I know you wouldn’t say anything, but I have to say, “don’t tell anyone,” so that I’ve said it. It makes me feel better about it.’

Rebecka laughs again. ‘I promise,’ she says.

Minoo can barely make herself say his name. She’s so afraid of sounding like the silly little virgin she is. ‘Max.’

It comes out of her like a gasp. She’d like the floor to open up and swallow her, for someone to nail fresh planks over her and forget her for all eternity.

‘Do you think he feels the same?’ Rebecka asks, as though it wouldn’t be strange if he did.

‘Of course not,’ Minoo answers. ‘Sometimes he sort of looks at me, but that’s probably me reading things into it that aren’t there.’

‘Why don’t you talk to him outside school some time? If
you
feel there’s something between you, you’re probably right.’ She makes it sound so easy.

‘Thanks. But I think the best thing for me to do is just to stop being in love with him.’

‘Good luck,’ Rebecka says ironically, and Minoo can’t help but smile.

14

CITY MALL IS
the epitome of everything Vanessa hates about Engelsfors. It’s deserted, ugly and, above all, an embarrassing failure.

It opened six years ago to a great fanfare and free balloons for all the children. Now there’s nothing there but shuttered shops and Sture & Co., hangout of choice for all the local drunks. The entire building sits in constant gloom because no one can be bothered to replace the light bulbs in the ceiling. The Crystal Cave is the first new addition to the place for more than two years.

A bell dings as Vanessa opens the door. There is a strong smell of incense. The walls are a warm yellow and it’s packed with shelves, tables of books, dream catchers, dolphin paintings, scented candles and mysterious jars. And, of course, there are crystals in all colours and sizes.

An older woman is sitting behind the counter flipping through a gossip magazine. Her skin has been battered by the sun, and her straggly blonde hair is a mess mangled from endless perms. Her lipstick is a frosty pink, and her eyelids droop under a heavy coat of turquoise shadow. Her denim outfit has small golden butterflies embroidered here and there.

So, this must be Mona Moonbeam. Vanessa doesn’t know what she was expecting, but not someone who looks as if she’s stepped out of an eighties music video. As she approaches the counter she smells stale smoke and sickly perfume. ‘Hi …’ she begins.

‘What do you want?’ Mona croaks, without looking up from her magazine.

Vanessa is annoyed. This shop probably needs all the customers it can get. Mona Moonbeam ought to cheer and scatter rose petals at her feet. ‘Am I disturbing you?’

Mona Moonbeam lowers her magazine slowly and looks at her. ‘What do you want?’ she repeats.

‘My mother was in here and had her palm read. Jannike Dahl? She said you had some kind of two-for-one offer.’

She lays the receipt on the counter and Mona picks it up slowly, as if she wants to emphasise that she’s not going to hurry on Vanessa’s account. She puts on the glasses she has hanging around her neck and examines the slip of paper closely and fastidiously. Then she looks at Vanessa and lets out a long, deep sigh.

Vanessa is about to turn and leave. But she’s already put this off for several weeks and the offer expires today. Her mother would be disappointed. She wants Vanessa to share her interest in dream interpretation, affirmation and aura photography. ‘Is there a problem?’ she asks.

Mona snorts, gets up and comes out from behind the counter. A dark red velvet curtain hangs between a cabinet filled with books on the occult and a copper dragon that
comes
up to Vanessa’s waist. Mona pulls it aside and goes in, waving for Vanessa to follow her.

The room is small and stuffy. Inside, more velvet curtains are nailed haphazardly on the white walls, but the peachcoloured linoleum flooring ruins any attempt at creating an atmosphere of mystique. In the middle of the room two chairs are upholstered in red plush, and a table is covered with a dark purple gold-fringed cloth. Mona gestures her over, and Vanessa takes that to mean she should sit down. A sharp metal spring inside the seat cushion cuts into her buttocks as she sinks into the chair.

‘What the fuck?’ Vanessa squirms to find a comfortable position. ‘This chair’s broken.’

‘You’re too bony,’ Mona mutters, and sits down opposite her.

Vanessa is about to respond with something about Mona’s well-padded rump, but bites her lip.

Mona’s bracelet rattles as she fumbles under the table. Then she rubs something into her hands. Vanessa has time to wonder if it’s magic oil, then sees the bottle of hand sanitiser.

Mona holds out her hands. ‘Let’s see your mitts,’ she says.

Warily Vanessa lays her hands in Mona’s. The moment their skin touches, Vanessa gets a strange feeling. It reminds her of how she feels when she’s about to become invisible. A bit like a wind gusting inside her.

Over the last few weeks she’s become increasingly adept at controlling her invisibility. She can feel it coming and stop it. She has also started to learn how to bring it on when she
chooses
. That’s considerably more difficult, and the first time she tried to do it her nose bled.

Mona examines her hands and Vanessa is suddenly nervous. After all, she doesn’t know anything about the woman. Her heart beats a little faster when she counts the weeks backwards in her head and realises that Mona must have arrived in the town just before Elias died.

This was a bad idea, Vanessa says to herself, a very bad idea, in fact.

‘I see that you’re an independent young woman who wants to go her own way,’ says Mona.

‘Really? Impressive guesswork,’ says Vanessa, as her pulse subsides.

‘I’m not in the business of guessing!’ Mona gives her an irritated look. ‘You want to go out into the big wide world and have a look around.’

‘Gosh! I must be so special.’ She’s got nothing to worry about. Everything Mona says would be true of any girl Vanessa’s age. Mona is a charlatan, just like the rest of her mother’s gurus. Now the charlatan scrunches up her mouth so that every nicotine wrinkle on her upper lip shows. Then she appears to make a decision.

‘All right. Let’s do this properly.’

She grabs Vanessa’s hands more tightly. A new feeling surges through Vanessa. She feels as she did when Ida levitated at the fairground: as if the air were charged with electricity. The hairs on her arms stand up. She holds her breath.

‘I see a man,’ says Mona. ‘You have a complicated relationship.’

‘Oh?’ says Vanessa, trying to sound indifferent.

‘It won’t last.’

‘You can’t just come out and say something like that!’

Mona smiles wryly. ‘Do you want me to stop? Can’t you handle the truth?’

Vanessa grits her teeth.

Mona peers intently into her right palm and follows a line with her index finger. It tickles. ‘See this? These two lines are intertwined all the way to the end. The love of your life isn’t the one you think, but it’s someone you’ve already met. Oh dear, oh dear … It’ll be no picnic, but you’re tied to each other.’ Mona laughs – no, that’s the wrong word. Mona
chuckles
.

‘What’s so funny?’ Vanessa asks.

‘You’ll see.’ Mona lets go of Vanessa’s right hand and grabs the left one. ‘You feel very let down by someone. I see a parent who …’ Suddenly Mona leans so far forward that the tip of her nose almost brushes against Vanessa’s palm. ‘Aha!’ she cries.

Vanessa’s mouth goes dry. Her tongue is glued to the roof of her mouth and she can’t speak.

Mona glances at her triumphantly. ‘I knew it,’ she says. ‘Wait a minute.’

Mona gets up and walks over to a black-painted chest of drawers. The top drawer gives such a shrill squeak when she pulls it open that Vanessa starts. Mona rummages around noisily until she finds what she’s looking for.

Vanessa catches a glimpse of a plastic bag containing yellowish-white stones before Mona disappears out of the
room
. She returns with a lit cigarette in the corner of her mouth, holding a red marble ashtray in one hand. The bag dangles in the other.

‘I need bigger guns,’ she says. She unties the bag and pours the contents on to the table. Vanessa goes cold when she sees they aren’t stones.

They’re teeth. Human teeth.

‘You see these inscriptions?’ says Mona, and holds up two front teeth.

Vanessa recoils.

‘Oh, don’t be such a wuss,’ says Mona. ‘Just be glad I’m not using animal droppings or entrails.’

Vanessa’s gaze glides down to the table. The gleaming teeth have strange lines on them that intersect in various ways. Each tooth has an inscribed pattern.

‘These are Ogham characters,’ says Mona. ‘The druids used them thousands of years ago. Some people believe that the characters are even older and originate from the ancient moon-goddess cults of the Middle East.’

She gathers all the teeth in her cupped hands and shakes them several times. They rattle and click. Then she opens her hands and they scatter out across the table. Vanessa feels that charged sensation in the room again. It’s as if someone was gently drawing a grater over her skin.

Mona turns a few teeth over so that their inscribed characters are visible. She studies the result and sucks in a few drags from her cigarette, which is still lodged in the corner of her mouth. ‘This character,
úath
, stands for terror or fear,’ she explains, pointing at a molar. ‘And this one …
No
. You probably don’t want to know.’ She looks at Vanessa provocatively.

‘Of course I do.’

‘
nGéadal
stands for death. Death is hanging over you.’

Mona takes another drag, making the column of ash at the end of her cigarette grow so long that it might break off at any moment. She takes off her glasses.

Vanessa is having trouble breathing. The room seems to be getting smaller, as if at any minute the walls will close in on her and crush her.

‘You don’t have to take everything literally,’ says Mona, as if what she had said was nothing out of the ordinary.

Vanessa gets up suddenly, grapples with the mass of velvet hanging in the doorway, and finally gets through it to the other side, back into the normal world where the air is breathable.

‘Hi,’ someone says, and Vanessa looks around.

Linnéa is standing behind the shelves. She’s holding a pearlescent porcelain figure of a cherub. ‘So ugly it’s wonderful,’ she says.

Vanessa looks at the chubby angel playing the harp. Nobody but Linnéa would be able to take that grotesque thing home and make it look cool.

Mona steps into the shop and casts a sweeping glance over Linnéa’s leopard-print fake fur. The shirt underneath has been cut to shreds and put back together with safety pins. She’s paired it with a super-short skirt made of pink tulle, and the knee-high combat boots.

‘Empty your pockets,’ Mona croaks.

‘What for?’ Linnéa asks.

‘I know a thief when I see one.’

‘I don’t have any pockets,’ Linnéa says. She spins around, a full turn, and smiles smugly.

Mona grabs a handful of the imitation fur, examines it closely and decides she’s telling the truth.