Part 3 (2/2)

Tina leaned forward and switched the television off.

'A trained gibbon could do better,' her father said. 'I don't know why I watch it, I always end up getting really annoyed. Could you be an angel and give me some of that orange drink?'

Tina held the plastic cup with the straw up to his mouth, and her father drank for a while as he gazed into her eyes. When she took the straw away, he asked, 'How are you? Is something wrong?'

'No, why?'

'You just look as if there might be. Is it the Small Businessman?'

'No,' said Tina. 'It's just that...I was at the hospital. I gave my neighbours a lift-she was having a baby. I don't know why, but being in a hospital always shakes me up.'

'I see. Right. But otherwise everything's OK?'

Tina looked around the room. It was spa.r.s.ely furnished so that it would be easier to clean. No rugs on the lino. Only a couple of pictures from home and a few framed photographs above the bed indicated that the occupant was someone who had lived a life of their own.

One of the photographs was of Tina herself, aged perhaps seven. She was sitting in a garden chair gazing into the camera with a serious expression, her small, deep-set eyes buried in her skull. She was wearing a floral-patterned dress that looked all wrong on her angular body. As if someone had put trousers on a pig to make it look presentable.

Ugly little b.u.g.g.e.r.

'Dad? I was wondering about something.'

'What's that?'

'I've got a scar here.' She pointed. 'When did I get that?'

There was a brief silence. Then her father answered, 'But I've already told you. You fell on a rock when you were little.'

'How little?'

'I don't know...four, maybe? A sharp rock. Can you give me another drink? The stuff they give you in here is horrible. Could you bring me some proper juice next time you come? Without all these preservatives?'

'Of course.' She held up the beaker again, and her father drank without looking her in the eye. 'But I was wondering...was I in hospital then? I think I ought to remember it, because...'

Her father spat out the straw. 'You were four years old, maybe even three. How would you remember that?'

'Did I need st.i.tches?'

'Yes, you needed st.i.tches. Why are you thinking about this now?'

'I was just wondering, that's all.'

'Well, that's what happened. That's probably why you're frightened of hospitals, for all I know. Have you got anyone staying in the cottage at the moment?'

'No, not just now.'

They carried on talking about summer visitors, tourism in general and the cheap vodka from Russia that was flooding in across borders where Tina wasn't around to stop it. At half past seven she got up to leave. As she stood in the doorway, she said, 'It was Mauritz Stiller, wasn't it?'

Her father, who seemed lost in thought, said, 'What was?'

'Sir Arne's Treasure. Mauritz Stiller.'

'Yes. Yes, of course. Take care of yourself, sweetheart.' He looked at her and added, 'And don't spend too much time thinking about... what's in the past.'

She said she wouldn't.

When she got home she stood outside for a long time checking things out before she went in. Even if there hadn't been a real storm, the wind was still quite strong and she could see the silhouettes of the pine trees swaying against the night sky. The air was chilly and she breathed in deeply through her nose, picking out rotting apples, damp earth, rosehips and a host of other smells she couldn't place or identify. There was an animal close by, probably a badger. The smell of its wet fur was coming from the forest behind the house.

A blue glow flickered in one of the windows at the neighbours' house. The children were busy with their video game. There was a blue glow from their own living-room window. Roland was watching some sports program.

As so many times before when she stopped and thought about it-rather than automatically getting out of the car and going inside-she had no desire to walk into her own house. Into any house. She just wanted to keep on walking past the lights and the warmth, out into the forest. To push her way through its dark wall and allow herself to be surrounded by the smell of badger, pine needles, moss. Allow the trees to protect her.

She looked over at the house next door. Should she knock on the door, check that the kids were OK? n.o.body had mentioned it, and she didn't like the idea. The children shunned her because of the way she looked. As if they thought she might do them some harm. No, she would leave it. If they wanted anything they could come to her.

Roland was indeed watching sport. Ice hockey, even though it was only September. There were no seasons these days. A chemical smell hovered in the air, presumably the ointment Roland had used on the dog. She could also smell the dog from behind the closed door of Roland's bedroom.

As she walked through the living room, Roland said, 'Oh, by the way-someone called round.'

She stopped. 'Oh yes?'

Without taking his eyes off the screen, he went on, 'Some guy wanting to rent the cottage. Shady-looking character. Said he'd spoken to you.'

'Yes.' Tina clasped her hands together, tightly. 'What did you say to him?'

'I told him straight. That we don't usually rent the cottage out in the autumn. But it was mainly because...' He glanced up at her. 'Well, he didn't exactly look...nice. And you said you didn't want to carry on renting the cottage out anyway, so...' Roland shrugged his shoulders, looking pleased with himself. 'He looked like some kind of arsonist or something.'

Tina stood there for a while just looking at him. The glow of the television gave his skin a greyish tone, bringing the incipient rolls of fat around his neck into sharp relief and flickering in his eyes, making him look like a monster.

She shut herself in her room, read The Old Man and the Sea and got through the hours until it was time to sleep.

She started work at ten o'clock the following day, but left home at quarter past nine and drove to the ramblers' hostel. There was only one car in the carpark: a small white Renault which proudly proclaimed in blue letters that it had been hired from OKQS at a cost of only 199 kronor per day.

She knocked on the main door of the hostel.

When nothing happened she opened it and stepped into a small hallway. There was a stand displaying tourist leaflets, and a sign on the reception desk explained that the hostel was open only on request. The building exuded desolation and soap.

She foolishly pinged the bell on the desk, as if it might magically produce someone who could help her; perhaps the autumn staff, a little old man who slept in a cupboard and woke up only when guests arrived.

When the bell had no effect, she shouted, 'h.e.l.lo? Is anyone there?'

She knew his name, of course, but she had no intention of shouting it out. The situation was already sufficiently absurd. A police officer shouting for a thief so that she could ask if he'd like to come and live with her.

She had just thought Right, I'm going, when a door opened along the corridor in front of her.

Vore emerged from the room and she gasped.

In the s.p.a.cious expanse of the ferry terminal he had looked big, but here between the narrow walls of the hostel he was enormous. In spite of the fact that he was wearing only a singlet and pants, he seemed to fill the entire corridor. Tina could understand why Roland had felt a little nervous. Vore looked as if he could crush Roland between his thumb and forefinger.

<script>