Liv Read online

  Contents

  About the Author

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  MONDAY, 18 AUGUST

  ELLEN

  HANNA

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ALEXANDRA

  TUESDAY, 19 AUGUST

  ELLEN

  HANNA

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ALEXANDRA

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  HANNA

  WEDNESDAY, 20 AUGUST

  ELLEN

  HANNA

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ALEXANDRA

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  THURSDAY, 21 AUGUST

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  HANNA

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  FRIDAY, 22 AUGUST

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ALEXANDRA

  HANNA

  SATURDAY, 23 AUGUST

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  HANNA

  ELLEN

  ALEXANDRA

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  SUNDAY, 24 AUGUST

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  HANNA

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ALEXANDRA

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ALEXANDRA

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  MONDAY, 25 AUGUST

  ALEXANDRA

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ALEXANDRA

  ELLEN

  HANNA

  TUESDAY, 26 AUGUST

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ALEXANDRA

  ELLEN

  WEDNESDAY, 27 AUGUST

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  ELLEN

  THURSDAY, 28 AUGUST

  ELLEN

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  LIV

  Mikaela Bley was born in 1979. Before becoming a full-time writer, she worked for TV4, Sweden’s largest commercial TV channel. Liv is the second book in the Ellen Tamm series, following on from Lycke. She lives in Stockholm with her husband and two children.

  Scribe Publications

  18–20 Edward St, Brunswick, Victoria 3065, Australia

  Published by Scribe 2018

  This edition published by arrangement with Lennart Sane Agency AB

  Copyright © Mikaela Bley 2016

  Translation copyright © Paul Norlen 2018

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publishers of this book.

  The moral rights of the author and translator have been asserted.

  9781925713596 (Australian edition)

  9781925693348 (e-book)

  A CiP data entry for this title is available from the National Library of Australia.

  scribepublications.com.au

  For Grandma Ingrid — you are an inexhaustible source of inspiration, both in writing and in life.

  We’re the children of our time,

  We’re the children of our time,

  Are you scared of your own children,

  Mother dearest?

  — Ulf Dageby

  MONDAY, 18 AUGUST

  ELLEN

  10.00 A.M.

  As she drove through sprawling fields, deep forests, and small villages, Ellen’s thoughts flashed by as swiftly as the scenery. Turning onto Highway 52, she rolled down the window. The sound of the wind drowned out some of her anxiety.

  The past week had been the worst in a long while.

  She really shouldn’t have been driving. She was exhausted and just wanted to sleep. The medication she was taking made it hard to think clearly. She was chewing gum to keep herself awake, and kept flicking the radio on, then snapping it off again, and then back on. As she drove, she continued to change stations, raise and lower the volume. As if it would help. Her whole body was crawling.

  Nothing had turned out the way she’d thought it would.

  The sun was harsh, and the heat shimmered above the asphalt. Ellen adjusted her sunglasses.

  She’d spent the summer in bed, the rain pattering against the roof tiles her only companion. Since she’d reported on the Lycke case at the end of May, she’d hardly left her apartment and had completely closed herself off from the outside world.

  It had been one of those summers that never really got going. It had started with a cold, rainy spring. Not until August had the longed-for heat come. And it was then — when the water finally glistened beyond Skeppsbron, when the seagulls screeched, and when the laughter of cheerful tourists down on the pier with their ice creams could be heard all the way up in her bedroom — that the whole room turned upside down. Suddenly, it had been as if she was on the ceiling looking down at herself. She’d flapped her arms and screamed, tried to turn herself around, come back, even though she didn’t recognise herself. Like she was someone else, or no longer existed.

  If Philip hadn’t showed up then … She couldn’t bear the thought, didn’t want to imagine what might have happened if he hadn’t had a key to her apartment — if he hadn’t taken her to the hospital.

  Philip had been working in Make-up at the Paradise Hotel shoot all summer and got worried when he couldn’t get hold of her. When he got back to Stockholm, he went straight to Skeppsbron and discovered how bad things were.

  Philip knew Ellen better than anyone. They’d been best friends since they went to boarding school together at Lundsberg. Both had been forced to go there against their will. Ellen, because it was a way for her parents to finally be rid of her; and Philip, because he was gay — a fact that didn’t fit neatly with the Lester family values. And now they were colleagues at TV4.

  After a full day at Saint Göran’s psychiatric emergency clinic, she was discharged with a referral for further treatment, continued sick leave, and medication as needed. Because she lived alone, they had also recommended that, for the immediate future, she should have someone around who could keep an eye on her.

  Philip had stayed with her for a few days, but when he’d had to leave for another shoot in the archipelago he’d arranged with Ellen’s parents for her to go home to Örelo, so she could be cared for and monitored by her mother — even though Ellen was thirty-five years old.

  The fuel gauge beeped and showed almost empty. In the little village of Stentuna, she stopped at the petrol station to fill up.

  The heat struck her as she got out of the car. A faint feeling of nausea passed through her.

  She guided the nozzle into the mouth of the fuel tank and inhaled the petrol fumes deep into her lungs. Sweat was running down her back, and the dusty roads had made her mouth dry. When the tank was full, she got a strange urge to lick the nozzle, but she shivered at the unnatural impulse, and went in to pay. This station was one of the few that weren’t owned
by the big chains. Yet.

  If possible, it was even warmer inside the shop, and it smelt like rancid meat and grease. Although it was August, the place was a riot of kitschy Christmas decorations. Elves and polar bears crowded the shelves alongside car accessories and audiobooks. It had always been like this, as far back as she could remember, even though the station had changed owners several times over the years.

  ‘Petrol on pump three,’ Ellen said to the oldish man behind the register, and, to clarify, pointed out of the wreath-clad window full of large flashing Christmas-tree ornaments.

  ‘Well, there’s only one car out there, so I could’ve worked that out with my little toe.’ He grinned and waved a fly away. ‘Can I tempt you with anything else?’

  She asked for a bottle of water, some chewing gum, and a pack of cigarettes. If she knew her mother correctly, Ellen would be needing them.

  She opened the bottle of water straight away and drank it all down in one.

  ‘Hot,’ she said, as if she needed to explain, and raised her blouse to let in a little air.

  ‘That’ll be 851 kronor, thanks.’

  She pushed her card into the machine and entered the PIN. As she waited for the payment to be approved, she read the placards for the tabloids.

  HEAT WAVE, one headline said in black capital letters illustrated with big suns. SOCCER MELEE AT DERBY IN STOCKHOLM. RECORD NUMBER OF HOMES FOR SALE. DIVORCE RATE RISES AFTER DISASTROUS SUMMER.

  ‘Is it the murder?’

  Ellen looked up at him. ‘What’d you say?’

  ‘I saw it says TV4 on your car — are you a reporter?’

  ‘Yeah …’ She had a small sticker on the back window of her car that advertised her place of work, but that wasn’t usually what caught people’s attention — more often, it was the fact that her car was a pink Porsche.

  ‘I know your face. Haven’t I seen you on the news? I hope you’re not here to muddy the name of our little village. Stentuna isn’t going to be known for murder now, is it?’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Do you know how much they’re going to raise the petrol tax? Do a program on that instead — and the way it’s going to affect us folks in the countryside.’

  ‘Wait, I don’t understand. What murder are you talking about? Has someone been murdered here in Stentuna?’

  ‘Yes. Although she wasn’t from here — no one knows who she is. She isn’t, or, excuse me, wasn’t, part of the local population.’ He leant forward and lowered his voice, even though there was no one else in the shop. ‘She was completely battered. Mr Ahlvarsson — or Ahlvarssonskan, as we call him — found her early this morning when he was out salting the roads. At first, we thought maybe she was here to visit someone, but no one seems to know who she is. Not many people live here. Hopefully, it’s not going to turn out like Malexander.’

  ‘I don’t think you need to worry about that,’ Ellen said, stopping herself before she mentioned how many people were beaten to death every year without the media reporting on it.

  ‘Well, don’t be too sure — this seems to have been pretty brutal. Apparently, the car was parked by the side of the road. When Ahlvarssonskan drove by, he knew that something wasn’t right, so he got out to see what it was — and there she lay, dead. Bashed to a pulp. The worst he’s ever seen, he said.’

  ‘Where was this?’

  ‘Along Ahlvarssonskan’s fields. The road to Ålberga.’ He pointed off in that direction.

  Ellen knew exactly where he meant. ‘How old was she? Do you know?’

  He shrugged. ‘Ahlvarssonskan said she must have been a looker.’

  She took a pen from the counter and wrote her phone number on the back of the receipt. ‘Feel free to call me if you hear anything interesting.’

  ‘Am I going to be on TV, then?’

  ‘You’d be great on TV,’ she said, and smiled before she went out the door.

  Outside the station, she stopped, a cold numbness spreading through her body.

  Death. It followed her.

  She was barely out her front door before it was breathing in her face.

  The sound of laughter from across the road caught her attention. Stentuna School was right there, the yard full of playing children. The sounds enveloped her, and for a brief moment she wished she could be part of it. It seemed so carefree. They were so innocent and happy.

  Ellen got into her car and leant her head against the window. She wished she could do everything over. Relive her life.

  Actually, she just wanted to skip out — run away from everything. But here she was, heading back to where it all started.

  How could everything have turned out so wrong?

  HANNA

  10.15 A.M.

  The children were standing in a group in the playground, moving restlessly back and forth and egging each other on. These power games — which is what they called it at the school — had gotten out of control. These rituals, involving insults, violence, and humiliation, were proving hard to put a stop to. At the teachers’ meeting last Sunday they’d watched a film in which three teenagers assaulted a boy. The teens spat on him and kicked him as he lay on the ground, pleading for his life. Someone had filmed it all and posted it on various forums on the internet, and the clip had gotten an alarming number of views. The police hadn’t identified anyone yet and had explained that what had taken place on the film was not particularly unusual. Hanna was afraid that if someone didn’t put a stop to it soon, someone would die — and she couldn’t bear the thought that one of the children in the film could be her son.

  Where was Alice? Hanna scanned the yard. She spun around, her pulse rising. ‘Alice! Where are you? I can’t see you. Come out now, please!’

  Why couldn’t she keep better track of her daughter? She wiped away the sweat and dust from her forehead. Strands of hair were sticking to her face, and she pulled her long, thick hair into a bun before hurrying over to the sandbox. If she’s not there, I’ll call for help, she thought, stumbling on the dry gravel. When she pulled up the lid, a pair of big eyes were looking up at her. That sweet, doll-like little face looked so serious, and Hanna had a strange vision of who Alice would be as an adult.

  ‘What are you doing, Mum? Close the lid!’

  ‘You mustn’t disappear like that. Get up, now!’ Hanna took hold of her arm and pulled her out of the sandbox, even though Alice was struggling against it.

  ‘The others will see …’ Alice kicked her legs. ‘Let me go!’

  ‘When I call, you have to come right away — do you hear me?’

  Alice was an expert at disappearing, and recently, it had got worse — she had started doing things she’d never done before. Hanna couldn’t deal with more worry; she got enough of that with Karl.

  ‘Sorry, Mummy, but I had to …’ Alice wrinkled up her face, like she always did before she started crying. Her eyes filled with tears.

  As usual, it pierced Hanna right in the heart.

  ‘No, I’m the one who should be sorry.’ She tried to smile. She pulled Alice to her and burrowed her face in that neck, between her two braids. ‘I didn’t mean to yank you like that; I don’t know what’s up with me. Sorry, honey. What are you playing?’

  Her daughter quickly pulled out of her embrace. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘You know you can tell me everything.’

  ‘It’s nothing.’ Alice ran away to join the other kids in the playground.

  Karl was standing in the middle of the group, glaring at her with his clear blue eyes — eyes that he’d inherited from his dad. He was one of the oldest kids at the school now and was almost a head taller than the other children. Children of all ages looked up to him and gathered around him.

  Should Hanna go up to them so she could hear what was going on, or would that just make things worse? They had enough problems as it was. Her anx
iety was growing, keeping pace with the headache she’d got after yesterday’s copious intake of wine.

  She swept her eyes slowly across the gravel-covered yard and the beautiful, old school, with its red wood and white gingerbread-house cornices — she’d fallen in love with it the first time she saw it.

  The air was still, and the pennant on the school’s flagpole was hanging slack. The forest behind the school suddenly seemed dark and threatening. Hanna’s eyes were drawn to the cars passing through Stentuna at much too high a speed, down on the highway. The sound of the children shrieking and laughing settled to a dim murmur in the background. Her heart was racing, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her.

  ‘Ouch!’ She whirled around when someone pinched her on the bottom. ‘Stop, Johan. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ The gaps in her memory from yesterday began to fill in one by one, and she wished she could rewind the tape. She really shouldn’t have drunk that much wine, much less let herself be seduced.

  ‘Don’t swear now, the children can hear you.’ He grinned.

  Hanna looked at him with distaste. ‘Stop that! You are not allowed to touch me. Don’t you realise the kids will see? You want them to grow up thinking that guys can behave that way to girls? As principal, you have a responsibility.’ She couldn’t believe that she had to spell it out for him.

  ‘Hey, hey now, let’s just take it easy — yesterday, you were singing quite a different tune. Yeah, just imagine how terrible it would be if they were to grow up and be like me. Big, mean Johan.’ He flexed his muscles.

  ‘I could report you for sexual harassment.’ Her cheeks flushed, and she had to make an effort to control herself.

  ‘Yep, you do that.’ His grin was even broader. ‘Stand up for your rights. Go into battle. Take a few of the other red-stockings from the teachers’ lounge with you, while you’re at it. What are they doing now?’ He nodded towards the children, suddenly sounding serious.

  ‘I don’t know, but I don’t like it. Alice seemed scared to death, and was hiding in the sandbox just now.’

  ‘Just because Alice is your daughter doesn’t mean that she’s the only one you should be looking out for.’

  Hanna nodded. She knew he was right, just as he ought to know by now that it wasn’t something he needed to clarify. Working as a teacher in the same village where you lived meant there was a significant risk of having your child as a pupil, and sometimes that could be a bit complicated. Most often, it was Alice who drew the short end of the stick and got the least attention, while Hanna did everything she could to make sure that the other children and parents wouldn’t think she was favouring her own daughter. Whatever she did, it turned out wrong. It had been the same with Karl when he was in primary school. Though it was hard to think about, Hanna knew it had badly affected their relationship — and that that was when Karl had started to distance himself from her. Maybe he saw her more as a teacher than a mother, and that was probably why she tried so hard not to make the same mistake with Alice.