lively. When Gabriel had left the kitchen to go to the bathroom, she looked at her father.
“When is Mommy coming back?”
Joakim closed his eyes. He was standing at the counter with his back to her, warming his hands on his coffee mug.
The question hung there in the air. He couldn’t bear it, but Livia had asked the same question every morning and evening since Katrine’s death.
“I don’t really know,” he replied slowly. “I don’t know when Mommy’s coming back.”
“But
when?
” said Livia more loudly.
She was waiting for his answer.
Joakim didn’t speak, but eventually he turned around. The right time to tell her would never come. He looked at Livia.
“Actually … I don’t think Mommy will be coming back,” he said. “She’s gone, Livia.”
Livia stared at him.
“No,” she said firmly and decisively. “She has
not
.”
“Livia, Mommy isn’t coming—”
“She is too!” screamed Livia across the table. “She
is
coming back! End of story!”
Then she went back to eating her sandwich. Joakim lowered his eyes and drank his coffee; he was beaten.
He drove the children into Marnäs at around eight in the mornings, away from the silence of Eel Point.
The sound of joyous laughter and screams met them as they walked into Gabriel’s nursery school. Joakim had no strength whatsoever. He just gave his son a tired hug as they said goodbye. Gabriel quickly turned away and ran off toward the cheerful voices of his friends in the soft playroom.
But the children’s energy would disappear with time,Joakim thought; they would grow old and their faces would become gray and sunken. Behind those bright faces lay pale skulls with empty eye sockets.
He shook his head to push the thought away.
“Bye, Daddy,” said Livia when he left her in the cloakroom at preschool. “Is Mommy coming home tonight?”
It was as if she hadn’t heard what he had said at the breakfast table.
“No, not tonight,” he said. “But I’ll come and pick you up.”
“Early?”
Livia always wanted to be picked up early—but when Joakim did turn up early, she never wanted to leave her friends to go home.
“Sure,” he said. “I’ll come early.”
He nodded, and Livia ran off to join the other children. At the same time a gray-haired woman looked out of the cloakroom.
“Hi there, Joakim,” she said, her expression sympathetic.
“Hi there.”
He recognized her; it was Marianne, the head of the preschool unit.
“How’s it going?”
“Not so good,” said Joakim.
He had to be at the funeral director’s office in Borgholm in twenty minutes, and moved toward the door. But Marianne took a step toward him.
“I understand,” she said. “We all do.”
“Does she talk?” said Joakim, nodding toward the other rooms.
“Livia? Yes, she—”
“I mean, does she talk about her mother?”
“Not much. And nor do we. Or rather, what I mean is …” Marianne stopped for a second or two, then went on: “If it’s okay with you, the staff are no different with Livia now than they were before. She’s just like all the other children in the class.”
Joakim nodded.
“If you didn’t already know …I was the one who found her in the water,” said Marianne.
“Right.”
Joakim had no questions, but she carried on talking anyway, as if she needed to tell him:
“There was just Livia and Gabriel left here that day … it was after five, and still no one had come to pick them up. And there was no answer when I telephoned. So I put them in my car and drove out to Eel Point. The children ran into the house, the door wasn’t locked … but the place was silent and empty. I went out looking, and then I saw something red down in the water, by the lighthouses. A red jacket.”
Joakim was listening and at the same time wondering what Marianne’s head looked like beneath the thin skin. A fairly narrow cranium, he thought, with high white cheekbones.
She went on: “I saw the jacket, and then I saw a pair of
“When is Mommy coming back?”
Joakim closed his eyes. He was standing at the counter with his back to her, warming his hands on his coffee mug.
The question hung there in the air. He couldn’t bear it, but Livia had asked the same question every morning and evening since Katrine’s death.
“I don’t really know,” he replied slowly. “I don’t know when Mommy’s coming back.”
“But
when?
” said Livia more loudly.
She was waiting for his answer.
Joakim didn’t speak, but eventually he turned around. The right time to tell her would never come. He looked at Livia.
“Actually … I don’t think Mommy will be coming back,” he said. “She’s gone, Livia.”
Livia stared at him.
“No,” she said firmly and decisively. “She has
not
.”
“Livia, Mommy isn’t coming—”
“She is too!” screamed Livia across the table. “She
is
coming back! End of story!”
Then she went back to eating her sandwich. Joakim lowered his eyes and drank his coffee; he was beaten.
He drove the children into Marnäs at around eight in the mornings, away from the silence of Eel Point.
The sound of joyous laughter and screams met them as they walked into Gabriel’s nursery school. Joakim had no strength whatsoever. He just gave his son a tired hug as they said goodbye. Gabriel quickly turned away and ran off toward the cheerful voices of his friends in the soft playroom.
But the children’s energy would disappear with time,Joakim thought; they would grow old and their faces would become gray and sunken. Behind those bright faces lay pale skulls with empty eye sockets.
He shook his head to push the thought away.
“Bye, Daddy,” said Livia when he left her in the cloakroom at preschool. “Is Mommy coming home tonight?”
It was as if she hadn’t heard what he had said at the breakfast table.
“No, not tonight,” he said. “But I’ll come and pick you up.”
“Early?”
Livia always wanted to be picked up early—but when Joakim did turn up early, she never wanted to leave her friends to go home.
“Sure,” he said. “I’ll come early.”
He nodded, and Livia ran off to join the other children. At the same time a gray-haired woman looked out of the cloakroom.
“Hi there, Joakim,” she said, her expression sympathetic.
“Hi there.”
He recognized her; it was Marianne, the head of the preschool unit.
“How’s it going?”
“Not so good,” said Joakim.
He had to be at the funeral director’s office in Borgholm in twenty minutes, and moved toward the door. But Marianne took a step toward him.
“I understand,” she said. “We all do.”
“Does she talk?” said Joakim, nodding toward the other rooms.
“Livia? Yes, she—”
“I mean, does she talk about her mother?”
“Not much. And nor do we. Or rather, what I mean is …” Marianne stopped for a second or two, then went on: “If it’s okay with you, the staff are no different with Livia now than they were before. She’s just like all the other children in the class.”
Joakim nodded.
“If you didn’t already know …I was the one who found her in the water,” said Marianne.
“Right.”
Joakim had no questions, but she carried on talking anyway, as if she needed to tell him:
“There was just Livia and Gabriel left here that day … it was after five, and still no one had come to pick them up. And there was no answer when I telephoned. So I put them in my car and drove out to Eel Point. The children ran into the house, the door wasn’t locked … but the place was silent and empty. I went out looking, and then I saw something red down in the water, by the lighthouses. A red jacket.”
Joakim was listening and at the same time wondering what Marianne’s head looked like beneath the thin skin. A fairly narrow cranium, he thought, with high white cheekbones.
She went on: “I saw the jacket, and then I saw a pair of
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