route home, put up posters with photographs of her. Had anyone seen her get in the car? She didn’t think so.
What would she have done if she were Mike? Apart from all the obvious things like calling friends and the police and the hospital. She would put a notice in the paper, talk to any bus drivers who were working at that time. She would knock on every door between the bus stop and their house, ask if anyone had seen her passing, paper the town with photographs and missing person posters.
Then it struck her.
Mike might even knock on the door of the house where she was being held. He would introduce himself to the new couple and briefly explain what had happened. Then he’d show them a picture. The man and the woman would play interested, look closely at the picture, and then shake their heads in sympathy. The woman would put her hand to her heart and look distraught, the man would show concern and try to be helpful, suggest things, because men always do, seriously believing that they can solve all problems.
And Ylva wouldn’t be able to make herself heard, she understood that now. Was there any other way she could attract attention?
Mrs Halonen was the first one to appear on the screen.She went past with her Alsatian, turned into Bäckavägen. She glanced surreptitiously over at Ylva and Mike’s house, almost guiltily. Ylva realised that she’d heard. And if Mrs Halonen knew, then everybody knew. She was way down the information chain.
Ylva tried to imagine the gossip, comforted herself with the conversations that were happening around town.
Did you hear that Ylva’s disappeared?
Who?
Mike’s wife, the girl from Stockholm.
What?
She didn’t come home. Left work and never came home.
Has she run off?
Don’t know.
She hasn’t been in touch?
No, she’s vanished. Mike’s looking for her. He’s reported it to the police and all that.
But I don’t understand, she just didn’t come home?
Nope.
But that’s crazy. Has she left him?
I don’t know.
What about the girl, she wouldn’t just leave the girl, surely?
Either she’s run away or something’s happened.
Like what?
How should I know?
But she wasn’t depressed, was she?
Things are not always as they seem. My dad had a friend who …
No matter what happened, things always blew over. Became part of life’s great charade. Hundreds of passengers killed in a plane crash? Months later it would be forgotten, and only the anniversary would be marked. Thousands killed in a natural catastrophe? A week of grim news reports and then it turned into something you looked up on Wikipedia. The tsunami, what year was that? That’s right, of course.
No one would save her, she had to escape.
Everyone went quiet when Mike entered Ylva’s workplace. Nour got up and went over to meet him.
‘Follow me,’ she said. ‘We’ll go into the kitchen.’ Mike immediately started to cry. For the simple reason that a friendly person had seen his impotence and offered comfort.
‘Fuzzy,’ he said, when she asked how he was. ‘It’s like that protective plastic on new mobile phones or watches; if only someone could pull the bugger off, I’d see clearly.’
Nour nodded, wiped away a tear from his cheek with her thumb and handed him some water.
‘Drink.’
Mike did as he was told, looked over her shoulder to check that the door was closed and waved his hand around nervously.
‘Do you think she’s met someone else?’
He looked at her with a mixture of fear and helplessness.
‘Not that I know of,’ she said, in the end.
‘I don’t see what else can have happened.’ He shook his head and continued: ‘She would have got in touch. She wouldn’t just forget Sanna, would she?’
‘No, she wouldn’t,’ Nour said.
‘So what’s happened then? Has she had an accident? Been run over, or met the wrong guy? I don’t get it. Three nights, it’s three nights now. I don’t even know if I want her back, can you understand that?’
‘I
What would she have done if she were Mike? Apart from all the obvious things like calling friends and the police and the hospital. She would put a notice in the paper, talk to any bus drivers who were working at that time. She would knock on every door between the bus stop and their house, ask if anyone had seen her passing, paper the town with photographs and missing person posters.
Then it struck her.
Mike might even knock on the door of the house where she was being held. He would introduce himself to the new couple and briefly explain what had happened. Then he’d show them a picture. The man and the woman would play interested, look closely at the picture, and then shake their heads in sympathy. The woman would put her hand to her heart and look distraught, the man would show concern and try to be helpful, suggest things, because men always do, seriously believing that they can solve all problems.
And Ylva wouldn’t be able to make herself heard, she understood that now. Was there any other way she could attract attention?
Mrs Halonen was the first one to appear on the screen.She went past with her Alsatian, turned into Bäckavägen. She glanced surreptitiously over at Ylva and Mike’s house, almost guiltily. Ylva realised that she’d heard. And if Mrs Halonen knew, then everybody knew. She was way down the information chain.
Ylva tried to imagine the gossip, comforted herself with the conversations that were happening around town.
Did you hear that Ylva’s disappeared?
Who?
Mike’s wife, the girl from Stockholm.
What?
She didn’t come home. Left work and never came home.
Has she run off?
Don’t know.
She hasn’t been in touch?
No, she’s vanished. Mike’s looking for her. He’s reported it to the police and all that.
But I don’t understand, she just didn’t come home?
Nope.
But that’s crazy. Has she left him?
I don’t know.
What about the girl, she wouldn’t just leave the girl, surely?
Either she’s run away or something’s happened.
Like what?
How should I know?
But she wasn’t depressed, was she?
Things are not always as they seem. My dad had a friend who …
No matter what happened, things always blew over. Became part of life’s great charade. Hundreds of passengers killed in a plane crash? Months later it would be forgotten, and only the anniversary would be marked. Thousands killed in a natural catastrophe? A week of grim news reports and then it turned into something you looked up on Wikipedia. The tsunami, what year was that? That’s right, of course.
No one would save her, she had to escape.
Everyone went quiet when Mike entered Ylva’s workplace. Nour got up and went over to meet him.
‘Follow me,’ she said. ‘We’ll go into the kitchen.’ Mike immediately started to cry. For the simple reason that a friendly person had seen his impotence and offered comfort.
‘Fuzzy,’ he said, when she asked how he was. ‘It’s like that protective plastic on new mobile phones or watches; if only someone could pull the bugger off, I’d see clearly.’
Nour nodded, wiped away a tear from his cheek with her thumb and handed him some water.
‘Drink.’
Mike did as he was told, looked over her shoulder to check that the door was closed and waved his hand around nervously.
‘Do you think she’s met someone else?’
He looked at her with a mixture of fear and helplessness.
‘Not that I know of,’ she said, in the end.
‘I don’t see what else can have happened.’ He shook his head and continued: ‘She would have got in touch. She wouldn’t just forget Sanna, would she?’
‘No, she wouldn’t,’ Nour said.
‘So what’s happened then? Has she had an accident? Been run over, or met the wrong guy? I don’t get it. Three nights, it’s three nights now. I don’t even know if I want her back, can you understand that?’
‘I
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