The Quarry (42 page)

Per put his arms around her, but only for a long hug.

Vendela let go of him eventually, with a deep sigh. ‘Come with me,’ she said quietly.

Per let out a long breath. ‘I can’t,’ he said.

Vendela took his hand. ‘It’s fine.’

She pulled him gently towards the door, as if the cottage were hers and not his.

Per opened his eyes; it was morning. He was lying in his bed, and someone was lying next to him, fast asleep. It wasn’t a dream.

But it was still a strange, dreamlike feeling to have Vendela Larsson beside him; since Marika left him he had slept alone every night.

When Vendela’s breathing had finally grown calm and even in the darkness, he had lain there beside her with his eyes open. He had felt good, but he had still expected a visit.

A visit from Jerry.

That’s what had always happened on the few occasions in the past when Per had slept next to a woman. He would gradually become aware of the heavy aroma of cigars in his nostrils, or he would sense that his father was standing in the shadows by the bed, grinning scornfully at his son.

But Jerry’s spirit stayed away tonight.

They got up at about nine o’clock, and Per made coffee and toast. This morning there was suddenly a whole range of topics they just couldn’t discuss, but the silence at the kitchen table was neither tense nor embarrassing. Per felt as he if knew Vendela well.

Then he had to go and visit Nilla at the hospital.

‘Can I stay here for a while?’ Vendela asked.

‘Don’t you want to go home?’

She looked down at the floor. ‘I don’t want to be there … I can’t cope with seeing Max at the moment.’

‘But we didn’t do anything wrong,’ said Per.

‘We slept together,’ said Vendela.

‘We kept each other warm.’

‘It doesn’t matter what we did … not to Max.’

‘See you soon,’ she said a little while later as they stood in the hallway.

‘Will you?’ said Per.

She gave him a fleeting smile as he closed the front door.

He walked to the car and breathed out slowly.

What had happened? And was it so bad, whatever it might have been? It was Vendela’s decision, and they had spent most of the time talking and sleeping, after all.

But Per’s life had become messier, and he felt as if this would influence Nilla’s chances in some way. Lengthen the odds.

Finding Markus Lukas would shorten them.

He took out his mobile and rang Directory Enquiries. A young woman asked how she could help.

‘Daniel Wellman,’ said Per, and spelled out the surname.

‘Which area?’

‘Malmö, I think.’

There was silence for a few seconds before she responded. ‘There’s no one there by that name.’

‘What about the rest of the country, then?’

‘No. There are a number of Wellmans, but no Daniel.’

Per thought about Vendela all the way to Kalmar.

As he stepped out of the lift by Nilla’s ward, he met a couple about the same age as him, a man and a woman walking slowly along the corridor. They looked exhausted, their eyes downcast.

The man was carrying a small blue rucksack, and Per suddenly realized that the couple were the parents of Nilla’s friend Emil. Presumably they had been to collect his things, and now they would be going home to an empty house.

Per’s warm memories of Vendela melted away. He slowed down as he approached Emil’s parents, but didn’t speak to them – he couldn’t say anything. When they passed him on their way to the lift, he just wanted to turn his face to the wall and close his eyes.

‘Hi Nilla. How are you?’

‘Terrible.’

Two days before her operation Nilla was in a foul mood; she wouldn’t even smile at her father as he sat down beside her.

‘You only come and see me because you have to.’

‘No …’

‘Because that’s what you’re
supposed
to do.’

‘No,’ said Per. ‘There are lots of people I never go and see, all the time. But I want to see you.’

‘Nobody wants to see a person who’s ill,’ said Nilla.

‘That’s not true,’ said Per.

They sat in silence for a little while.

‘Don’t you feel well today?’ he asked.

‘I threw up last night, twice.’

‘But you’re a bit better today?’

‘A bit,’ said Nilla. ‘But the nurses wake me up too early. They always wake us up at seven, even though nothing ever happens then. We get breakfast and our tablets at half past.’

‘But seven’s not that early, is it?’ said Per. ‘I mean, that’s just the same as when you’re going to school … when I was at secondary school I used to get up at quarter past six every morning to catch the bus.’

Nilla didn’t appear to be listening.

‘Mum’s auntie was here this morning.’

‘Auntie Ulla?’

‘Yes,’ said Nilla, ‘and she said she was going to pray for me.’ She looked past Per, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. ‘I want you to play Nirvana’s “All Apologies”,’ she said. ‘The acoustic version.’

‘Play? What do you mean, play?’

‘In the church,’ she said quietly.

Eventually he understood, and shook his head. ‘We won’t be playing anything.’ He added, ‘Because … because it won’t be necessary.’

‘But at the burial,’ said Nilla. ‘Will you play it then?’

He nodded.

‘When your heart stops on the dance-floor in eighty years’ time, I promise to play Nirvana.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Mum will be here soon, we’ve got a meeting with your surgeon. Have you met him?’

Nilla folded her arms over her chest. ‘Mm. He was here last night … He smelled of smoke.’

Fifteen minutes later, Per and Marika were sitting in silence next to each other in front of a desk. There was a faint smell of tobacco.

Tomas Frisch, the vascular surgeon, came from Lund and was about the same age as Per. Frisch meant ‘healthy’ in German – that had to be a good sign, didn’t it? He had tired eyes, but he was tanned and in spite of everything he seemed relaxed about the operation. He shook hands with both of them.

‘It’s not a routine procedure, not by any means,’ he said, ‘but you can trust us. We’re all very experienced – it’s an excellent team.’

Dr Frisch opened up a laptop and switched it on. He started to click through a series of images on the screen as he explained what would happen during the operation.

Per looked and listened, but didn’t know what to say. He would have preferred to sit there leaning forward with his head in his hands.

Tomas Frisch was the pilot who was going to bring them all down safely. But he wasn’t part of the plan – Dr Frisch was risking only his reputation if Nilla didn’t make it. In that way, Per thought, a surgeon was less like a pilot and more like God.

‘We know you’ll do your best,’ said Marika when the surgeon had finished.

‘That’s what we do every single day,’ said Frisch.

He smiled and shook hands with them again. But as they left the room, Per was wondering what words of solace Emil’s parents had heard from the doctors.

Per stayed with Nilla during lunch, but neither of them ate more than a couple of mouthfuls. When he had said goodbye to her, Marika walked with him to the lift – something she had never done before. Perhaps all this desperate waiting had brought them a little closer to one another, he thought, even if there was still a long way to go.

‘You’ll be here in plenty of time?’ said Marika.

‘Of course.’

‘So when will you get here?’

‘As early as necessary.’

Marika looked at him. ‘You don’t want to come at all, do you?’

‘No, who would?’ Per met her gaze. ‘But I will.’

The lift doors opened behind him. He leaned forward to give his ex-wife a friendly hug, and she accepted it in silence.

She had changed her perfume, he noticed. Marika’s body felt tired and fragile, and after a few seconds it began to shake. Per held her until she stopped crying, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. There was no love there any longer. There was only tenderness.

He held Marika and thought of Vendela.

As he was walking through the hospital foyer, his vision blurred, he saw a boy wearing a black jacket and carrying a black rucksack coming towards him from the bus stop, his head bowed. He looked tired and fed up.

As the boy came closer he recognized his own son.

‘Hi Jesper.’ Per cleared his throat, fighting back the tears. ‘Has school finished?’

Jesper nodded. ‘I’ve come to see Nilla.’

‘Good … she’ll be pleased. Her operation is the day after tomorrow; we’ve just had a meeting with the doctor who’s going to make her better. He’s very good.’

Jesper nodded without speaking. He took a couple of steps past Per, then stopped and asked, ‘Did you and Granddad carry on with the steps?’

‘The steps?’ said Per. Then he remembered their building project in the quarry. ‘We did – they’re almost finished.’

‘Good,’ said Jesper. He hesitated, then added, ‘It was me that wrecked them.’

‘You mean … when they fell down?’

Jesper stared at the ground. ‘I was trying to carry on with them by myself and finish them when you went to fetch Granddad … but the whole thing collapsed.’

‘I see. It doesn’t matter … but you’re lucky the stones didn’t fall on top of you.’ He laughed and went on, ‘I thought it was the trolls who had knocked the steps down. After all, they do live in the quarry, according to our neighbour Gerlof.’

Jesper was looking at him as if he was crazy.

‘It was a joke,’ said Per. He went on quickly as if Jerry were still alive, ‘But next time you come to Öland we’ll finish them off. Nilla will be able to help too, when she gets home.’

He stressed the word
when
, and looked into his son’s eyes to try to share the hope he still felt.

‘OK.’

Jesper allowed his father to hug him without giving any indication of whether he believed Nilla would get better or not. Then he adjusted his rucksack and went into the hospital.

Per’s mobile rang as he was getting into the car. A bright, friendly female voice announced, ‘Hello, this is Rebecka from the funeral director’s office. We’ve got two possible dates for the ceremony.’

‘Ceremony? What ceremony?’

‘The funeral of Gerhard Mörner,’ said the woman. ‘Tuesday, May twelfth or Thursday, May fourteenth – a spring funeral. Two o’clock in the afternoon on both days. Which would suit you best?’

‘I don’t know.’ Per made an effort to pull himself together. ‘Thursday, maybe.’

‘Excellent,’ said the woman. ‘In that case I’ll book the fourteenth. Have a nice weekend.’

Vendela had been unfaithful. Physically and mentally. Both were just as bad.

When she got home after spending the night with Per Mörner, she went out to do some work in the garden, creating order on the new plot.

She thought constantly about what had happened. What had she done? She had spent the night with Per, lying close beside him as they touched one another and whispered secrets.

She had behaved
exactly
as Max had suspected.

But
she
wasn’t the one who had quarrelled and taken off with Ally. Vendela had always been there for Max when it came to his books and everything else. For once she had done something selfish; it hadn’t been planned and she didn’t know what would happen from now on. But she had
no
intention of feeling guilty.

She didn’t remember falling asleep with Per, but they must have done, because she woke up from a peaceful darkness in the morning and looked into Per’s eyes. She remembered where she was, and didn’t regret a thing.

She didn’t feel in the least uncomfortable about staying for breakfast, and there were no awkward silences. Per talked quietly about his daughter, and the operation that would save her life. He knew she would make it, he just knew it, and Vendela nodded seriously. Of course. Of course everything would be fine.

‘I have to go into Kalmar,’ he said after breakfast. ‘To the hospital.’

Vendela understood, but didn’t want to go home. ‘Can I stay here for a while?’

‘Don’t you want to go home?’

She looked down at the floor and thought about her wedding ring in the hollow on the elf stone. ‘I don’t want to be there … I can’t cope with seeing Max at the moment.’

‘But we didn’t do anything wrong,’ said Per.

‘We slept together,’ said Vendela.

‘We kept each other warm.’

But Vendela knew that didn’t matter.

When Per had gone she went into the living room and sat down on the sofa. On the other side of the room, next to the television, was an old wooden chest with a scornfully grinning troll, a knight on a horse, and a weeping fairy princess carved on the front. Vendela looked at it for a long time.