Missing by Karin Alvtegen Page B

looked the other way, plainly at a loss. The high table guests stopped speaking as if on pain of death. Her father was looking straight at her, his expression more confused than upset. Maybe he wasn’t quite sure what ‘fucking’ meant. Her mother’s facial colour shifted towards purple.
    The whole social carousel was spinning wildly around her, but Sibylla felt calm and in control. The Sales Manager’s glass of brandy was standing within easy reach and she lifted it in a toast to her mother.
    â€˜Cheers, Mummy. I just thought of something. Why don’t you get up on a chair and sing a Christmas song for everyone? It would be so nice.’
    She emptied the glass. By now the entire room had fallen silent. She took the opportunity to stand up and address them all.
    â€˜Hey, what do you think? Wouldn’t it be great if dear Beatrice here sang a little song for us? Full of Christmas joy!’
    Every single eye in the room was riveted on her.
    â€˜You don’t want to? Why, don’t be shy, darling Mummy. You mustn’t worry. Why not simply go for that rather foul little ditty you hum in the kitchen most nights?’
    Finally, her father broke free from his state of paralysis and spoke, his powerful voice echoing through the room.
    â€˜Girl, SIT DOWN!’
    She turned to him.
    â€˜You talking to me, Daddy? For you are my Dad, aren’t you? I remember seeing you around at home, like at suppertime. How are you? My name is Sibylla.’
    He was staring at her, slack-jawed.
    â€˜This is getting really boring. I think I’ll be off. Have a lovely evening, everyone!’
    Seventy-six pairs of eyes followed her as she walked through the silent room, all the way from the podium past the tables to the doorthat led to freedom. When she closed the door behind her, she breathed in deeply and felt truly fresh air filling her lungs for the first time in her life.

S he dumped the newspaper in a rubbish bin in Ropsten tube station. The ticket had been paid for properly with another twenty-kroner note from her treasure trove. She dared not cheat in case she ended up drawing attention to herself. Standing on the platform waiting for the Lidingö train, she thought grimly that Stockholm Transport had now got more money off her in one day than it had over the last fifteen years.
    It was half past twelve and there were relatively few people in the train. She examined her image in the window-pane. How weird she looked! This would surely give her a little more time. Maybe she would be able to work out how to deal with it all. First, she must collect the money from her post box and return the money she had spent to her savings. They mustn’t be allowed to take her hope away.
    Her post box.
    Oh fuck.
    The insight sent a high-voltage current through her body. How could she have been so bloodystupid that she hadn’t figured the police would’ve got her number by now?
    She was just wandering blithely into a trap. It was highly likely that the police knew of the one fixed point in her existence. Her name was attached to that post box. Of course they would have discovered the only register that had her name in it.
    Once she saw the full extent of her loss, rage started boiling inside her. So, she’d never be able to collect her money again? She was unconsciously balling her fists, feeling her anguish fade and being replaced by defiance. They were not going to do this to her. If she’d been a respectable person, sticking to the social norms, they would never have treated her like this. She had never demanded anything from society and she didn’t intend to start now.
    She could take so much shit being poured over her but no more. Now she would fight.
    Â Â Â Â 
    Thomas lived in a boat, anchored at the Mälar docks on LÃ¥ngholm Island. She got off at Hornstull and crossed the PÃ¥lsund Bridge.
    Thomas was the only person she trusted enough to ask for help. Ten years ago,