The Shapeshifters (18 page)

‘Have you got a good suggestion?' he went on.

‘Perhaps Jim.'

‘Jim?'

The boy nodded.

‘Jim,' said Börje, as if testing the sound of it. ‘That's not a bad name, is it? Did you hear what a good name he thought up? Jim.'

Seved nodded.

‘It's nice,' he said softly. By this time he had twisted his face towards the glass so that the tears welling up in his eyes would not show. They would be streaming down his cheeks any second.

Time.

It was only a matter of time.

Everything passes with time.

He had been told that himself, and he knew it was true in a way. Time blotted things out. They lost their hold. Although of course there was no telling what would fade and what would remain. But it would get better. He would get used to it, even if he was sad to begin with. It vanished with time. A shell formed.

They had to drive through Jokkmokk, and they knew that was not entirely risk free. Partly because the boy would realise they had no plans to stop at a pet shop, and partly because they would have to drive relatively slowly through the built-up area, and then someone who knew the boy might catch sight of him. On the other hand, it was fairly dark.

They were not particularly worried that he would start screaming and struggling. It would take a lot for the boy to do that. But there must not be silence. Seved tried to think of something to say but his mind was a complete blank. It would be a disaster if the boy heard the crying in his voice.

They turned into the road that ran past the police station. Lights were shining in the windows of the ground floor. Seved
tried to see if Börje was nervous, but it was hard to tell.

‘Jim,' repeated the older man loudly, and craned his neck to get a glimpse of the boy in the rear-view mirror. ‘That's a really good name. How clever of you to come up with such a good name, Mattias.' He put the indicator on and the Volvo began to tick. ‘If you like, you can name a few more, because I can never think of names that suit them. They have to be names they like, of course. And you can't ask them because they can't talk. But they can nod. They understand!'

‘Do they?'

‘Of course. Ask him if he would like to be called Jim.'

The boy sat and thought for a moment.

‘Do you want to?' he said quietly.

He looked for a long time at the mouseshifter, which was lying very still and looking at him with eyes like dark dots. The little object did not understand a thing, it seemed.

‘Well?' asked Börje. ‘What does he say? Would he like to be called Jim?'

‘I think so.'

The streets of Jokkmokk were lined with frozen birches, cars covered in white and high mounds of snow left behind by the ploughs. In the windows, Advent stars and candlesticks were shining. They passed an ICA supermarket and a pizzeria. Some way along a side road a car was parked with its headlights on full beam.

‘Well, Mattias,' Börje said, ‘perhaps you'd like other toys too? What toys would you like to have? Do you like Lego?'

Mattias nodded.

‘You can build a house with your Lego for Jim to live in, can't you? You could build a block of flats, and then Jim's friends can live on the other floors, and you can build a castle . . .'

It was clear from Börje's voice that he was running out of things to say, and Seved tried desperately to think of something. He swallowed, repeatedly. He was unsure of his own voice. It might let him down.

‘They like to wear clothes,' he said, turning round in his seat to study the boy, who was trying to pat the little mouseshifter with his finger. ‘Like the mice in
Cinderella
. Have you seen
Cinderella?'

Börje turned his head with a look that stung Seved's cheek. That was exactly the kind of talk that had to be avoided. Nothing about home, nothing outside the car.

They approached a junction, and Börje slowed down because a car in front was pulling out. At the same time a woman came along with a kick sledge. Her glasses had misted up under her fur-edged hood and she passed by on Seved's side. He looked at her and she looked at him. Stared, in fact.

As they began to move again he met Börje's eyes.

And now he was no longer unaffected.

Seved looked at his watch. Over half an hour had passed.

‘Shall we phone Lennart?' he said quietly.

Börje nodded, extracted his mobile from his trouser pocket and gave it to Seved.

‘Better still,' he said, ‘send a text.'

Seved had never owned a mobile phone. He didn't know how to send a text; he didn't even know how to unlock the phone.

Börje had to instruct him, step by step.

When Seved had found the right place and worked out how the keys functioned he wrote:

‘WE HAVE THE BOY.'

Then he held up the phone so that Börje could check.

‘Now what?'

‘You've got to send it as well. Press YES.'

Shortly afterwards the phone rang.

‘LENNART BRÖSTH,' it said in black letters against the grey display. Seved handed the mobile to Börje. He answered Lennart's questions in monosyllables, and when the conversation ended he threw the phone into Seved's lap.

‘Have you cleaned up the cellar?'

Seved shook his head.

‘Then you'll have to call Signe,' said Börje. ‘Lennart was in Glommersträsk, on his way to Skellefteå. But he's going to turn round straight away, so it looks like he'll be there before us. Tell her to clean up the worst of it. And make the bed.'

‘I think I want to go home now.'

When Seved heard the boy's high voice from the back seat he felt a knot form in his stomach, and for a few seconds he could not even draw breath.

‘Home?' Börje said at length. ‘Didn't you want your very own little troll mouse?'

‘Yes, but I have to go home.'

‘We'll drive you home as soon as we have collected the mouse,' Börje said over his shoulder. ‘That'll be all right, won't it?'

Mattias had stiffened.

Seved unclicked his safety belt, put one boot on his seat and squeezed himself between the front seats and into the back, almost falling on top of the boy, who was holding his cupped hands in front of him. They were empty. The mouseshifter had slipped away. Now it could be anywhere in the car, and it would not be easy to get hold of it again.

Mattias stared out through the window. A tear had left a shiny
stripe down his cheek. His hat had ridden up his head and one ear was visible. It was a little red nine shape, surrounded by tufts of brown hair.

‘You mustn't be sad,' Seved said, using the back of his hand to wipe his own cheekbones, and then his moustache to get rid of the mucus that had collected there in a sticky fringe.

‘It'll be all right, you'll see. It'll be all right.'

When they pulled up outside the house someone was moving about in the spotlight. It was Signe. She was on her way into the house and glanced at the car before disappearing through the door. Lennart's Merc was parked in front of the dog enclosure, and they pulled up alongside it.

‘Come on,' Börje said, opening the door for Mattias.

The boy did not move at first, so they had to help him out.

He walked between them, holding the mouseshifter in his cupped hands. Seved had heard a scratching in the moulded pattern of the floor mat and managed to catch hold of the little creature again. That was lucky. From what he could see the boy was once again mesmerised. The small eyes had fixed themselves on his.

Strangely, there was music in the kitchen, lively Christmas music. The notes from the CD player came from a disc that Seved had never heard before, and he realised Lennart must have brought it with him. On the plastic case lying on the windowsill there was a red price sticker.

The big man sat at the kitchen table, looking towards the door. The lump of his left hand was hidden under the tabletop and he had taken off his jacket. Seved realised he had never seen him without a jacket before, not even in the summer.

The table was laid. Two plastic bottles of cola were standing in the centre. There were ginger biscuits arranged on a red napkin on a plate, and on another plate were clementines. And bags of sweets in a big pile: chewy cars and jelly dummies and chocolate rice puffs. Lennart must have emptied the confectionery shelf at Q-Star.

Signe stood with her back against the draining board, her arms folded. At her feet sat a hare, staring vacantly ahead. Its ears were pressed back. Shapeshifters in the kitchen, thought Seved. What about that, Ejvor?

Lennart was distractedly rolling a chocolate egg wrapped in foil on the table, and when Mattias appeared in the doorway he immediately began playing with it.

‘Can you help me with this, little fellow?' he said.

Oddly enough, the boy showed no shyness. He strode into the kitchen, let the mouseshifter leap down onto the table, and took the egg from the old man's rough hand. He unwrapped the foil as Lennart watched him with his eyes half closed.

‘You'll have to open it too.'

Mattias purposefully broke apart the two chocolate halves and removed the plastic egg inside. It was yellow.

‘Was that all?'

The boy nodded.

‘Is it an egg yolk?'

Mattias shook his head.

‘What is it then?'

‘A toy.'

‘A toy?'

Mattias shook the container, and it rattled.

‘So there's something inside?'

The boy nodded.

‘Is it a chicken?'

He shrugged his shoulders.

‘Open that one too. Then we can see what we've got.'

The brown halves that Mattias laid on the table instantly attracted the little mouseshifter's attention, but it seemed as if it was afraid to touch or even approach the chocolate. The boy struggled with the plastic egg but his small fingers kept sliding off.

‘I can't do it.'

Lennart took the yellow container and pressed it together until one side came apart from the other with a popping sound. Then he shook out the contents onto the table. There were colourful pieces of plastic and a slip of paper, coiled from being rolled up. When Seved bent under the table to pick up one of the plastic halves that had fallen down he saw the hare looking at him. It had lowered its neck exactly as if it had been a cat about to run up and play with something that had landed on the floor. It was an old hare and its whiskers were thick and unpleasantly long.

‘What is it?' asked Lennart.

The boy sorted through the pieces, picked them up and examined them.

‘A dinosaur, I think.'

‘Do you want it?' Lennart asked.

Mattias shrugged.

‘What about some sweets then?' the man grunted, resting his hand on the pile of sweet bags. They rustled as he moved his hand among them.

‘There are all sorts here,' he said. ‘Dummies and things.'

‘I'd like some cola,' said the boy, scratching his head under his hat.

Signe unscrewed the cap of one of the bottles and it started to spray, so she hurried to the sink as the brown liquid overflowed.

‘They've been in the car,' Lennart explained.

After wiping the bottle she poured out a glass, which she placed in front of Mattias. He took hold of it in both hands and drank.

When he had finished he put the glass down in front of him and asked:

‘Can I go home now?'

‘You want to go home?' Lennart asked.

The boy nodded.

‘Why so soon?'

‘Can I?'

‘Listen,' said Lennart, ‘I've just spoken to your mum, and she said it would be good if you could stay here overnight. Then you can go home tomorrow. They have lots to do, seeing as it's nearly Christmas.'

‘I want to phone her and talk to her.'

‘And they were very tired,' Lennart continued. ‘They were very tired and were going to go to bed early. They didn't want us to phone and wake them. But we can phone tomorrow.'

The boy did not move. He was fighting back the tears.

‘Tomorrow we'll phone your mum,' said Lennart. ‘And when you have drunk your cola I think you should go to bed, so that you will be wide awake tomorrow and can play with your friend. You're going to have your very own room to stay in, you and your friend. That'll be nice, won't it, little fellow?'

 

 

Torbjörn sat up, reached out his slim arm and pulled the pizza box onto the floor. Then he went into the kitchen. There was a clatter as he searched in the drawer for cutlery. Everything was in a mess, and he searched for some time before coming back and sitting cross-legged against the sofa. First he cut the pizza into slices, and then into smaller pieces which he put into his mouth with a fork.

He stabbed a piece of pizza and said with his mouth full:

‘You've got to follow it up somehow.'

‘My sister reckons it's someone dressed up.'

‘Cecilia?'

Susso nodded and shoved the grease-stained carton onto the floor, then lay on her back and stretched out her legs.

‘It's like . . .' she said, and then fell silent because she had to think. ‘It's like I want Cecilia to be right—that it isn't real, that it is only someone in disguise. Or else it's a completely normal dwarf—you know what I mean, a really short person who is interested in Edit Mickelsson's house for some reason. I can't bear the thought of it being anything other than a human being. Even I can't bear that. Do you understand?'

Torbjörn had eaten less than a fifth of his pizza and it seemed enough for him because out came the snus tin. Holding it in his hand he stood up, ambled over to the computer and switched it on. The seat of his trousers hung low, exposing the lettering on
the wide waistband of his underpants. A string of fine dark hair clambered up his lower vertebrae. Susso knew how silky it felt under her fingers.