Authors: Johan Theorin
Lynx
Jan had led the small group of police officers and nursery staff straight up into the forest, but after a few hundred metres he had veered off, moving further and further away from the place where the game of hide-and-seek had started.
The officer in charge was standing on the path with his legs apart; Jan thought he had hard eyes. ‘Is this where he disappeared?’
Jan nodded.
‘You’re absolutely sure about that?’
‘Yes.’
The officer was at least one metre ninety, dressed in black boots and dark blue overalls. He had five colleagues with him. They had arrived in three patrol cars and parked on the road down below the forest.
William’s father hadn’t joined the search party; he had gone to fetch his wife. Jan had caught a glimpse of his face outside the nursery; it was stiff and terrified.
The police officer was still staring at Jan. ‘So you had
nine
children when you started the game just here … and
eight
when you finished it?’
Jan nodded again. ‘That’s right. Nine boys to begin with.’
‘Didn’t you notice that one of them was missing?’
Jan glanced sideways, avoiding the policeman’s gaze. He didn’t need to pretend to be nervous now – he
was
nervous. ‘No, unfortunately I didn’t … The group was very boisterous, both when
we
walked up into the forest and on the way home. And this boy, William, he wasn’t a Lynx.’
‘
A lynx?
What are you talking about?’
‘That’s the name of my section of the nursery – Lynx.’
‘But surely you were responsible for him today, during the excursion?’
‘Well, yes,’ Jan conceded, his expression resigned. ‘Me and Sigrid.’
He glanced over at her. Sigrid Jansson was standing among the fir trees about ten metres away, her eyes red from weeping. When the police had arrived at the nursery and started to ask questions, she had more or less broken down, which was why the officer in charge had turned his attention to Jan.
‘And when William went off to hide, which direction did he go in?’
‘That way.’ Jan pointed south. Even though the lake wasn’t visible from here, he knew that it lay in that direction – in exactly the opposite direction from the one William had taken.
The police officer straightened up. He sent one man down to search in and around the nursery, then looked at the others. ‘OK, let’s move!’
The group spread out and began to search, but they all knew time was short. It was ten past five, the autumn sun had already set – it was dark and grey among the trees. In half an hour the light would fade, and in an hour it would be pitch dark.
Jan followed as straight a route as possible through the trees, appearing to search as carefully as everyone else. He called for William and looked around, but of course he knew they were searching in completely the wrong place. He shouted, but all the time he was thinking about how thick the concrete walls of the bunker were.
27
IT’S A FEW
days before Rettig delivers another envelope to Jan. But by then Jan has met the nocturnal visitor to the pre-school.
The sun shines on these October days, and life is looking better and better; the shadows from the Unit and Lynx are slowly fading. In Jan’s opinion he is a
totally
reliable colleague at this stage, popular with both the children and the other members of staff. The letters he smuggles into St Psycho’s cannot alter the fact that he is an extremely conscientious pre-school teacher.
After all, he
likes
the children. Perhaps it is a sense of guilt, or the fear of being found out, that makes him work so hard for the
welfare and security of the children, building a solid foundation for lifelong learning
and
enabling them to develop into responsible and ethically aware citizens
, and all the other excellent aims he learned about during his professional training.
The other members of staff sneak out occasionally for a bit of fresh air or a quick smoke, but Jan remains with the children all the time. He jokes with them, listens to them, calms them down, dries their tears and sorts out all their little arguments. He spends a great deal of time with Leo, trying to gain his trust.
Sometimes when he is in the middle of a game he can see no difference between himself and the children. The years fall away, he is five or six years old and able to live completely in the present. No demands, no worries about the future, no anguish because
of
his loneliness. Just cheerful shouts and a warm feeling of total involvement. Life is going on
here and now
.
But sometimes he catches a glimpse of someone moving behind the perimeter fence at St Patricia’s, and he abandons the game for a moment and thinks of Rami.
Rami the animal lady, Rami like an animal in a cage.
In a safari park the predators are enclosed together with the herbivores. But the difference between the dangerous animals and those that are harmless is always difficult to see.
The squirrel wants to be free
, Rami wrote. And he wants to get inside St Psycho’s to see her. He wants to talk to her, just like before.
‘Jan!’ the children shout. ‘Look, Jan!’
Sooner or later one of the children starts tugging at his arm, and he is back in the moment.
It is afternoon, and the sun disappears behind the bare trees in the west. The autumn sky quickly grows dark. Jan has one last evening shift, then four days off.
He puts the children to bed and is due to be relieved at ten. When he happens to glance outside just before nine thirty, he sees a man and a woman walking along the street, side by side.
The woman is Lilian, but who is the man? They are walking so close together that they look like a married couple, but surely Lilian is divorced? Jan watches the man hug her outside the pre-school, then turn and disappear into the darkness.
In spite of the hug Lilian doesn’t seem particularly happy when she walks in; she is frowning, in fact.
Jan is feeling very calm; he has devoted all his attention to the children this evening. ‘Is it cold outside?’ he asks.
‘What? Yes … yes, it is cold. It’s almost winter, after all.’
‘Typical. I’ve got a few days off and I’m going away.’
‘Great.’
Lilian doesn’t ask where he is going; she seems stressed. She hangs up her coat in the cloakroom, looks wearily at the clock and then at Jan. ‘I’m a bit early,’ she says, ‘but you can go if you want.’
Jan looks back at her. ‘I could stay for a while.’
‘No, you go. I’ll be fine.’ Lilian pushes past him and goes into the kitchen. The furrow in her brow is still there, and she hasn’t asked a single question about the children.
Jan gazes after her for a long time. ‘OK then,’ he says eventually. ‘I’ll go.’
He puts on his jacket and shoes and takes his rucksack out of his locker with exaggerated movements, making sure she can hear him. It’s almost like theatre. ‘I’m going now … Bye then!’
‘Bye.’
He closes the door behind him. It is very cold now the sun has gone, and as he walks away from the outside lights at the Dell, it is like wading into a deep pond; the playground is in total darkness. But his eyes slowly grow accustomed to the gloom, and out in the street he sees a figure dressed in a dark padded jacket and a black hood approaching from the bus stop.
The shadow is heading towards the pre-school. Towards him.
Jan moves instinctively to one side. He hides behind the playhouse, waiting and listening.
He hears the rattle of the gate as it opens and closes. The front door of the pre-school opens and closes.
Jan steps out. The playground is empty. To the left of the playhouse he sees the three swings, swaying gently in the night breeze. He goes over and sits down on the biggest one, which is made from an old tyre.
He pushes his hands deep in his pockets and waits. For what? He isn’t sure, but he is warmly dressed and he can sit here for a while.
He remains motionless on the swing, gazing across at the hospital and the illuminated fence. From time to time he glances over at the windows of the pre-school, and once he sees Lilian dashing past in the dining room. She is alone; there is no sign of a visitor.
Quarter past ten. Nothing is happening. The lights begin to go out in the houses on the far side of the field as weary mums and dads go to bed. Jan shivers and gives himself a shake, but remains where he is.
Ten minutes later he is too cold, and he is starting to get tired of this. He is just about to make a move when the front door of the pre-school opens. Jan freezes. He sees a figure step out on to the porch.
It isn’t Lilian; it’s the visitor in the padded jacket and hood. A lithe figure moving quickly away from the building. The figure does not look over in the direction of the swings, but walks straight down the path and out through the gate. Jan hears the sound of heels clicking on the tarmac.
He gets up slowly and takes a few steps towards the gate.
The figure in the padded jacket has reached the first street lamp. It turns its head and gazes up at the hospital, and at the same moment a cigarette lighter flares into life – and Jan sees that the figure is his colleague, Hanna.
Hanna Aronsson. The youngest member of staff at the Dell, and the quietest. Since the evening when they walked home from Bill’s Bar together, she has hardly spoken to Jan. And he has made a point of avoiding her, after telling her about Lynx and William that night when he’d had too much to drink.
Jan leaves his bike by the gate and silently follows Hanna down the street, staying out of the pools of light cast by the street lamps. She is heading for the bus shelter. She stops there, smoking her cigarette.
Jan stops too, fifty metres away.
What is he going to do? He needs to make his mind up before the bus comes, and eventually he walks up to the shelter, a tense smile on his face. ‘Evening, Hanna!’
Her blue eyes look up and lock on to him. There is no answering smile. ‘Jan.’
He stops a couple of paces away from her and lets out a long breath. ‘That’s it then – no more work for a few days!’
‘Right,’ says Hanna.
‘So what have you been doing this evening?’
She carries on staring at him, but doesn’t answer, so in the end he tries again: ‘Where are you off to?’
Hanna drops the cigarette butt and stamps on it. ‘Home.’
Jan lowers his voice, even though they are alone in the bus shelter. ‘Have you been visiting someone at the hospital?’
She doesn’t answer this time either. Jan hears a rumbling noise behind them; the bus into the town centre is approaching. When they get on, Hanna goes right to the back of the bus, glancing over her shoulder as if she wants to get away from Jan. But he follows and sits down next to her.
The bus is almost empty, but he speaks quietly. ‘Can we have a chat first, Hanna? Before you go home?’
‘What about?’
He jerks his head backwards, in the direction of St Patricia’s. ‘About what you do up there.’
28
JAN AND HANNA
end up at the Medina Palace, at her suggestion. The night club is in the cellar of the Tureborg, Valla’s only luxury hotel, a towering structure of steel and glass which seems to aspire to being a real skyscraper. As pre-school teachers coming straight from work they’re not exactly dressed for the occasion, and Jan actually has milk stains on his jumper after Matilda knocked her glass over during break. The suited and booted bouncer opens the door for them, but his expression is slightly dubious.
‘Do you come here often?’ Jan jokes.
‘Sometimes.’
Hanna has already smoked two cigarettes since they got off the bus; she answers him quietly, looking down at the floor as they walk into the club.
Into an enormous playroom.
Jan has never been to a real night club, not even in Gothenburg, and when he sees the high, black ceilings adorned with long, curved pipes, and the cold metal surfaces of the walls, he knows he shouldn’t be here. But there aren’t many people in the club this Thursday evening. The music is just right – quiet enough for them to be able to talk, but loud enough to stop anyone eavesdropping.
Jan chooses a glass table in the corner – a secluded table for sharing secrets. ‘What are you having?’
‘Something with orange juice in it.’
Jan goes over to the bar. The selection is more upmarket than at
Bill’s
Bar; there is a range of cocktails, champagne, cognac … He goes back with two glasses of orange juice, but when Hanna takes her first sip, she looks disappointed.
She nods in the direction of the bar. ‘I said something with orange juice
in it
… Can you go and get me a proper drink?’
‘Like what?’
‘Something to calm me down.’
Jan looks at her. ‘You mean vodka or something?’
‘Good idea.’
Five minutes later they are staring at their drinks in silence.
‘So you crept up on me this evening,’ Hanna says eventually.
‘Well, I don’t know about that … I thought Lilian seemed a bit tense when she arrived, so I waited in the playground to see if I could find out why.’
Hanna gazes down at the table. ‘Did you know I was up at the hospital?’
‘No, but I know someone has been there and then left via the school, so I’ve been wondering who it might be. Have you been up there often?’
Hanna takes a huge gulp of her drink, as if her vodka and orange juice was a health drink after a sauna. Jan takes a small sip of his.
‘A few times,’ Hanna says. ‘I haven’t kept count.’
‘And how long has this been going on for?’
‘Since May. I’d been working at the Dell for four months by then.’
‘And Lilian knows about this?’
Hanna gazes at him with her blue eyes; she seems to be wondering how much to tell him, and in the end she says, ‘Yes. I mean, we’re friends, so she keeps an eye out for me … I only go up there when she’s on nights.’
‘No,’ says Jan. ‘You were up there one night when I was working. I heard you coming down in the lift. Then you went out through the Dell.’