figure. Chris lay on his side, watching, telling me to finish the whole joint, wanting to see what I’d do next. I tried to imagine what else I could do, what was sexy – I’d known once, instinctively known without having to think – and then it occurred to me that Chris had brought only a little weed with him from London. That small amount was surely gone: we were a month at the farm. I wondered where he could have found this weed and how he could have paid for it. I asked him, not angry, not accusingly, but curious, where did the weed come from? He took the joint from me. His reply was barely audible, his lips hidden by smoke. All I heard was:
‘Håkan.’
As Chris gestured for me to return to bed, this fact split into two, the fact that Håkan had given him the weed meant that Chris and Håkan must have met without my knowing. These two facts then split, now four. They must be friendly enough to discuss the availability of weed and they must have been intimate enough for Chris to discuss our finances since he didn’t have the money for drugs and couldn’t access the little money we had without me knowing. It follows that he must have explained our predicament to Håkan, the man strategising to steal our farm. I was certain that Håkan had made Chris a gift of the drug not out of generosity but as a reward for his indiscretion. These disturbing facts began to multiply, out of control, budding and splitting, filling my mind until I couldn’t stay in the room any more, not with the smell of Håkan’s stinking weed burning in our home – in our farm!
I hastily threw on some clothes and ran out with Chris standing naked on the steps, bellowing to me:
‘Come back!’
I didn’t stop, I ran, as fast as I could, past the deserted barn where we’d danced earlier, past Håkan’s farm, past the hermit in the field, reaching the foot of the hill around which all of our farms were arranged.
The slopes were wild meadow: the top was dense forest. By the time I reached the tree line I was dripping in sweat and collapsed into the long grass, catching my breath, staring out over the landscape. I lay there until I began to shiver. That was when I saw headlights on the road, not one set of lights, but two, not two, now three, not three, but four sets of headlights. At first I thought it was the drug playing tricks on my eyes, so I counted again, four cars travelling one after the other, creeping slowly through the countryside, in convoy, in the dead of night, in a part of the world that might normally only see four cars pass by in a single day. Snaking round the narrow country roads, they moved as if joined together, a nocturnal monster searching for prey. Reaching Håkan’s drive they turned, all four cars parking in his drive. The headlights were switched off. The world was dark again. Then, one by one, the beams from four torches flickered over the fields, and finally a fifth beam emerged from the house, joining this gang, taking the lead. I couldn’t see the people, just their lights, and watched them walk towards the river in single file, except they never reached the river. Instead, they disappeared into the underground cellar, the wood-carving shed – five sets of lights turning off the path, disappearing into that underground cellar in the dead of night, a cellar filled with trolls and knives and an unexplained padlocked door—
• • •
M Y PHONE RANG . Though I’d switched it to silent, the image of my dad appeared on the screen. It was the first time he’d rung since I abruptly cut him off. Leaving the phone on the table, I said to my mum:
‘If you want, I’ll ignore it.’
Answer it. Take the call. I already know what he’s going to say – he’s changed his mind. He no longer intends to remain in Sweden. His bags are packed. He’s ready to drive to the airport. Or he’s there already, ticket in hand.
• • •
I T STRUCK ME AS MUCH MORE likely that my dad was ringing to
‘Håkan.’
As Chris gestured for me to return to bed, this fact split into two, the fact that Håkan had given him the weed meant that Chris and Håkan must have met without my knowing. These two facts then split, now four. They must be friendly enough to discuss the availability of weed and they must have been intimate enough for Chris to discuss our finances since he didn’t have the money for drugs and couldn’t access the little money we had without me knowing. It follows that he must have explained our predicament to Håkan, the man strategising to steal our farm. I was certain that Håkan had made Chris a gift of the drug not out of generosity but as a reward for his indiscretion. These disturbing facts began to multiply, out of control, budding and splitting, filling my mind until I couldn’t stay in the room any more, not with the smell of Håkan’s stinking weed burning in our home – in our farm!
I hastily threw on some clothes and ran out with Chris standing naked on the steps, bellowing to me:
‘Come back!’
I didn’t stop, I ran, as fast as I could, past the deserted barn where we’d danced earlier, past Håkan’s farm, past the hermit in the field, reaching the foot of the hill around which all of our farms were arranged.
The slopes were wild meadow: the top was dense forest. By the time I reached the tree line I was dripping in sweat and collapsed into the long grass, catching my breath, staring out over the landscape. I lay there until I began to shiver. That was when I saw headlights on the road, not one set of lights, but two, not two, now three, not three, but four sets of headlights. At first I thought it was the drug playing tricks on my eyes, so I counted again, four cars travelling one after the other, creeping slowly through the countryside, in convoy, in the dead of night, in a part of the world that might normally only see four cars pass by in a single day. Snaking round the narrow country roads, they moved as if joined together, a nocturnal monster searching for prey. Reaching Håkan’s drive they turned, all four cars parking in his drive. The headlights were switched off. The world was dark again. Then, one by one, the beams from four torches flickered over the fields, and finally a fifth beam emerged from the house, joining this gang, taking the lead. I couldn’t see the people, just their lights, and watched them walk towards the river in single file, except they never reached the river. Instead, they disappeared into the underground cellar, the wood-carving shed – five sets of lights turning off the path, disappearing into that underground cellar in the dead of night, a cellar filled with trolls and knives and an unexplained padlocked door—
• • •
M Y PHONE RANG . Though I’d switched it to silent, the image of my dad appeared on the screen. It was the first time he’d rung since I abruptly cut him off. Leaving the phone on the table, I said to my mum:
‘If you want, I’ll ignore it.’
Answer it. Take the call. I already know what he’s going to say – he’s changed his mind. He no longer intends to remain in Sweden. His bags are packed. He’s ready to drive to the airport. Or he’s there already, ticket in hand.
• • •
I T STRUCK ME AS MUCH MORE likely that my dad was ringing to
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