The Hidden Child (36 page)

Annoyed, Paula continued her search on the Internet. Where did all these people come from? And where did their hatred come from? She could understand hatred that was directed at specific individuals, at people who had wronged them in some way. But to hate others simply because they were from a different country, or because of the colour of their skin? No, she just didn’t get it.

She herself hated the thugs who had murdered her father. Hated them so much that she wouldn’t hesitate to kill them if she ever had the chance, assuming they were still alive. But her hatred stopped there, even though it could have reached upwards, outwards, expanded further. She had refused to succumb to that much hatred. Instead, she had limited her animosity to the men who held the guns that fired the bullets into her father’s body. If she hadn’t limited her hatred, it would have eventually made her hate her native country. And how could she do that? How could she hate the country where she’d been born, where she’d taken her first steps, where she’d played with friends, sat on her grandmother’s lap, listened to songs in the evening, and danced at fiestas? How could she hate all that?

But these people . . . She scrolled down, reading one column after another proclaiming that people like herself should be eradicated, or at least sent back to their home-lands. And there were pictures. Plenty of them from Nazi Germany, of course. The black-and-white photos that she’d seen so many times before – the heaps of naked, emaciated bodies that had been tossed aside like trash after the people had died in the concentration camps. Auschwitz, Buchenwald, Dachau . . . all the names that were so horribly familiar, for ever associated with the worst of all evil. But here, on these websites, they were hailed and celebrated. Or denied. For there were also the deniers, like Peter Lindgren. He insisted the holocaust had never happened. That six million Jews had not been expelled, killed, tortured, gassed to death in the concentration camps during the Second World War. How could anyone deny something like that when there was so much evidence, so many witnesses? How had the twisted minds of these people managed to deny history?

She jumped when a knock on the door interrupted her.

‘Hi, what are you working on?’ Martin was standing in the doorway.

‘I’m checking up on all the background information I can find about Sweden’s Friends,’ she said with a sigh. ‘But it’s enough to scare the shit out of you, poking around in this stuff. Did you know that there are approximately twenty neo-Nazi organizations in Sweden? Or that the Sweden Democrat Party won a total of 281 seats in 144 municipalities? Where the hell are we headed in this country?’

‘I don’t know, but it makes you wonder,’ said Martin.

‘Well, it’s fucking awful,’ said Paula, angrily throwing down her pen, which slid off the desk and landed on the floor.

‘Sounds like you need a break from all this,’ said Martin. ‘I was thinking of having another talk with Axel.’

‘About anything in particular?’ asked Paula, getting up to follow Martin out to the garage.

‘Not really. I was just thinking that it might be good to check in with him again. After all, he had the closest relationship with Erik and knew him best. But there is one thing I do want to ask him about.’ Martin paused. ‘I know that I’m the only one who thinks there’s some connection with the murder of Britta Johansson, but someone recently made a phone call from their house to Axel, and another one back in June, although it’s impossible to know if the call was intended for Erik or Axel. I’ve just looked through the Frankels’ phone records, and in June someone from that house called Britta or Herman. Twice. Before they’d called the Frankels.’

‘It’s worth checking out, at any rate,’ said Paula, fastening her seatbelt. ‘As long as I can get out of reading about all those Nazis for a while, I’ll go along with any theory, no matter how much of a long shot it is.’

Martin nodded as they drove out of the garage. He could totally understand Paula’s feelings. But something told him this wasn’t really such a long shot.

She’d been in a daze all week. Only on Friday did Anna feel like she could even begin to take in the information. Dan had handled it much better. After the initial shock had subsided, he’d gone around humming to himself. He’d blithely dismissed all her objections, saying, ‘Oh, it’ll work out. This is going to be so great! A baby of our own – this is fantastic!’

But Anna couldn’t really go along with ‘fantastic’. Not yet. She found herself touching her stomach, trying to imagine the tiny lump inside. So far unidentifiable, a microscopic embryo, which in only a few months would become a baby. Even though she’d been through it twice before, it still seemed unfathomable. Maybe even more so this time around, because she hardly remembered being pregnant with Emma and Adrian. Those memories had disappeared into a haze, where the fear of being beaten had dominated her every waking hour, even encroaching on her sleep. All her energy had been directed at protecting her stomach, protecting their lives, from Lucas.

This time that wasn’t necessary. And absurdly enough, that frightened her. This time she could be happy. Was allowed to be happy. Should be happy. She loved Dan, after all. Felt safe with him. Knew that he would never even think of harming her or anyone else. Why should that frighten her? That was the question she’d spent the last few days trying to fathom.

‘What do you think? Boy or girl? Any feelings one way or the other?’ Dan had slipped behind her, wrapping his arms around her and patting her still flat stomach.

Anna laughed and carried on stirring the food, even though Dan’s arms were hindering her efforts.

‘I’m probably in my seventh week. Isn’t that a bit early to know whether it’s a boy or a girl?’ Anna turned to face him, looking concerned. ‘I hope you won’t be too disappointed if you don’t have a son, because you know that it’s the father who determines the sex of the baby, and since you’ve already had three girls, the statistical probability is . . .’

‘Shhh,’ Dan laughed as he pressed his finger to Anna’s lips. ‘I’ll be thrilled no matter what. If it’s a boy, that will be great. If it’s a girl, that’s great too. And besides . . .’ His expression turned serious. ‘As I see it, I already have a son: Adrian. I hope you realize that. I thought you knew how I felt. When I asked all of you to move in with me, I didn’t just mean into this house. I meant in here too.’ He put his fist to his chest, right over his heart, and Anna fought to hold back her tears, though without success, as one tear rolled down her cheek and, to her annoyance, her lips began to quiver. Dan wiped away the tear, then took her face in his hands and looked into her eyes, forcing her to meet his gaze.

‘If it’s a girl, then Adrian and I will just have to join forces in the middle of all you women here. But don’t ever doubt that I see you, Emma, and Adrian as a package deal. And I love all three of you. And I love you too, inside there. Do you hear me?’ he shouted at her stomach.

Anna laughed. ‘I don’t think the ears develop until sometime around the twentieth week.’

‘Well, all of my children develop very, very early.’ Dan winked.

‘Hmm, is that so?’ said Anna, but she couldn’t help laughing again. They stood there kissing, but moved apart when they heard the front door open and then slam shut.

‘Hello? Who is it?’ called Dan. ‘It’s me,’ said a sullen voice. Belinda came in, peering at them from under her fringe.

‘How did you get here?’ asked Dan, staring at her angrily.

‘How the hell do you think I got here? The same damn way I left here. By bus.’

‘Speak to me politely, or not at all,’ said Dan tensely.

‘Oh, okay, then I choose . . .’ Belinda pressed her finger to her cheek and pretended to think. ‘Right. Now I know. Then I choose NOT TO TALK TO YOU AT ALL!’ And she stormed up the stairs to her room, slamming the door behind her with a bang, then turning up the stereo as loud as it would go, making the whole house shake.

Dan sank on to the bottom step, pulled Anna close, and began talking to her stomach, which was at exactly the same level as his mouth.

‘I hope you covered your ears inside there. Because your father is going to be way too old for that kind of language when you’re her age.’

Anna stroked his hair, offering him her sympathy. Above them the music pounded.

Chapter 28
Fjällbacka 1944

‘Did he have any news about Axel?’ Erik couldn’t hide his excitement. The four of them had gathered in their usual place on Rabekullen, right across from the cemetery. They all wanted to know what Elsy could tell them about the news that had spread like wildfire through the town – that Elof had brought home a Norwegian resistance fighter who had fled from the Germans.

Elsy shook her head. ‘No, Pappa asked him, but he said he hadn’t heard anything about Axel.’

Disappointed, Erik stared down at the granite rock, kicking his boot against a patch of grey lichen.

‘Maybe he doesn’t know him by name, but if we told him more about Axel, he might remember something,’ said Erik, renewed hope gleaming in his eyes. If only there were some indication that his brother was still alive. Yesterday his mother had said for the first time what they all feared. She’d wept, her sobs more heartrending than ever, and said that they should light a candle for Axel in church on Sunday, because he was probably dead by now. His father got angry and swore at her, but Erik had seen the resignation in his eyes. Not even his father believed that Axel was among the living.

‘Let’s go talk to him,’ said Britta eagerly, getting up and brushing off her dress. She raised her hand to smooth down her plaits.

‘Oh right, I can see that it’s your concern for Erik that’s making you stand there primping,’ said Frans scornfully. ‘I didn’t know you were sweet on Norwegians. Aren’t there enough Swedish boys to satisfy you?’

Britta’s face turned bright red. ‘Shut up, Frans. You’re making a fool of yourself. Of course I care about Erik. And finding out about Axel. But there’s no harm in looking decent.’

‘Then you’ll have to make a real effort – if you want to look
decent
,’ was Frans’s vulgar reply as he tugged at Britta’s dress. Her face got even redder, and she looked as if she might burst into tears when Elsy said sharply:

‘Stop that, Frans. Sometimes you say such stupid things. Just cut it out!’

He stared at her and his face blanched. Abruptly he stood up and ran off with a furious expression.

Erik poked at some loose stones. Without looking at Elsy, he said in a low voice, ‘You should watch what you say to Frans. There’s something about him . . . Something simmering underneath. I can tell.’

Elsy looked at him in surprise, wondering where that strange comment had come from. But she knew instinctively that he was right. She’d known Frans since they were little, but something was growing inside of him, something uncontrollable, something untamable.

‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous,’ giggled Britta. ‘There’s nothing wrong with Frans. We were just . . . teasing each other.’

‘You’re blinded by the fact that you’re in love with him,’ said Erik.

Britta slapped him on the shoulder.

‘Hey, why’d you do that?’ he said, holding his shoulder.

‘Because you’re talking such nonsense. So, do you want to go and ask the Norwegian about your brother, or not?’

Britta started off as Erik and Elsy exchanged glances.

‘He was at home when I left,’ she said. ‘I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have a few words with him.’

A short time later Elsy knocked discreetly on the basement door. Hans looked a little embarrassed when he opened the door and saw the three of them standing outside.

‘Yes?’ he said.

Elsy glanced at the others before she spoke. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Frans come sauntering towards them, his expression now much calmer and his hands casually stuck in his trousers pockets.

‘Well, ah, we were wondering if we could come in and talk to you for a moment.’

‘Sure,’ said the Norwegian, stepping aside. Britta gave him a coy wink as she moved past. The boys shook his hand and introduced themselves. There was very little furniture in the small room. Britta and Elsy sat down on the only chairs, Hans perched on the bed, and Frans and Erik sat down on the floor.

‘It’s about my brother,’ said Erik. There were flickers of hope in his eyes. ‘My brother has been helping your people during the whole war. He went with Elsy’s father on his boat, the same one you came here on, and transported things back and forth to your side. But a year ago the Germans captured him at Kristiansand harbour, and . . .’ He winced. ‘We haven’t heard anything from him since.’

‘Elsy’s father asked me about him,’ said Hans, looking Erik in the eye. ‘But I’m afraid I don’t know that name. And I can’t remember hearing anything about a Swede who was captured in Kristiansand. But there are lots of us. And quite a few Swedes have been helping us, for that matter.’

‘You might not know his name, but maybe you’d recognize him.’ Erik spoke eagerly, clasping his hands in his lap.

‘It’s not likely, but go ahead and tell me what he looks like.’

Erik described his brother as best he could. It wasn’t really that difficult, because even though Axel had been gone a whole year, Erik could still picture him very clearly. At the same time, there were plenty of others who looked like Axel, and it was hard to come up with distinctive features that would set him apart from other Swedish boys his age.

Hans listened closely but then shook his head. ‘No, he doesn’t sound familiar. I’m really sorry.’

Erik sank back in disappointment. For a while nobody spoke. Then Frans said:

‘So, tell us about your adventures in the war. You must have had some exciting experiences!’ His eyes shone.

‘There’s not much to tell, actually,’ said Hans, sounding reluctant to say more, but Britta refused to believe him. She fixed her eyes on him and urged him to tell them something, anything at all, about what he’d been through. After a few more protests, the Norwegian finally relented and began telling them about what it was like in Norway. About the German occupation, about the suffering of his countrymen, about what they’d done to fight back. The four young people listened to him, open-mouthed. It all sounded so exciting. Of course they noticed the sorrowful look in Hans’s eyes, and they realized that he must have witnessed a great deal of misery. And yet . . . they couldn’t help thinking that it was exciting.