In Fjällbacka you were never alone, which could be both good and bad. People cared about their neighbours and kept tabs on them. Sometimes it could go too far; Erica didn’t care for all the gossip, but as she sat here watching the bustle of the city she felt that she could never return to this.
Like so many times recently, her thoughts turned to Alex. Why had she driven to Fjällbacka every weekend? Who was she meeting there? And the ten-thousand-krona question: who was the father of the child she was expecting?
All at once, Erica remembered the piece of paper she had stuffed into her jacket pocket as she stood in the dark in the wardrobe. She didn’t understand how she could have forgotten about it when she got home the day before yesterday. She felt in her right-hand pocket and pulled out a wrinkled sheet of paper. With fingers that had grown stiff without mittens, she carefully unfolded the paper and smoothed it out.
It was a copy of an article from Bohusläningen. There was no date, but based on the typeface and a black-and-white picture, she could see that it wasn’t recent. Judging from the photo, it dated from the seventies. She easily recognized both people in the picture and the story recounted in the article. Why had Alex saved this article at the bottom of a bureau drawer?
Erica stood up and put the article back in her pocket. There was no answer to be found here. It was time to go home.
The funeral was tasteful and reverential. Fjällbacka Church was far from full. Most people hadn’t known Alexandra but were there merely to satisfy their curiosity. Family and friends sat in the front pews. Besides Alex’s parents and Henrik, Erica recognized only Francine. She had a tall blond man next to her in the pew, who Erica assumed was her husband. Otherwise, there weren’t many friends. They filled only two rows of pews, confirming Erica’s image of Alex. She had certainly had numerous acquaintances, but few close friends. There were only a few curiosity-seekers scattered here and there in the rest of the church.
Erica had taken a seat up in the balcony. Birgit had caught sight of her outside the church and invited her to sit with them. She had politely declined. It would have felt hypocritical to sit there amongst family and friends. Alex was actually a stranger to her.
Erica squirmed on the uncomfortable pew. All through their childhood she and Anna had been dragged to church on Sundays. For a child, it had been terribly boring to sit through long sermons and hymns whose melodies were hopelessly difficult to learn. To amuse herself Erica had made up stories in her head. Numerous sagas about dragons and princesses had been composed here without ever being committed to paper. In Erica’s teenage years, her church attendance was much less frequent because of her vehement protests. When she did go along, the sagas were replaced by stories with a more romantic theme. Ironically enough, she actually had this forced church attendance to thank, or blame, for her choice of profession.
Erica still hadn’t embraced any type of religion; for her a church was a beautiful building steeped in traditions, nothing more. The sermons of her childhood had prompted no desire to accept a faith. They often dealt with hell and sin; they lacked the bright belief in God that she knew existed but had never personally experienced. Much had changed. Now a woman stood before the altar, dressed in a pastor’s robes, and instead of eternal damnation she spoke of light, hope and love. Erica wished that this view of God had been offered to her when she was growing up.
From her hidden place in the balcony, she saw a young woman sitting next to Birgit in the first pew. Birgit was holding the woman’s hand in a convulsive grip, and occasionally she leaned her head on her shoulder. Erica thought she recognized her. The young woman must be Julia, Alex’s little sister. She was too far away for Erica to see her face, but she noticed that Julia seemed to flinch at Birgit’s touch. Julia withdrew her hand each time Birgit took it, but her mother either pretended not to notice or was truly unaware of her daughter’s reaction, due to the state she was in.
Sunshine flowed in through the high stained-glass windows. The pews were hard and uncomfortable, and Erica felt the beginning of a dull ache in her lower back. She was grateful that the ceremony was relatively short. When it was over she sat there and looked down on the people slowly wandering out of the church.
Outdoors the sun was almost unbearably bright in a cloudless sky. A procession of people walked down the little hill to the churchyard and the newly-dug grave where Alex’s coffin would be buried.
Until her parents’ funeral, she had never thought about how burials were done in the winter, when the ground was frozen. Now she knew that an area was heated so that the ground could be dug up. An area just big enough to hold all the coffins that were to be interred.
On the way to the site that had been selected for Alex’s grave, Erica passed her parents’ grave. She was last in the procession and stopped for a moment by the headstone. A thick strip of snow lay on the edge and she carefully swept it off. With one last look at the grave she hurried towards the small group that was gathered a bit farther on. At least the rubber neckers had stayed away from the burial ceremony; now only family and friends were left. Erica had felt unsure of whether she should come along, but at the last moment she decided that she wanted to follow Alex to her final resting place.
Henrik stood in front with his hands stuck deep in his coat pockets, head bowed and eyes fixed on the coffin that was slowly covered with flowers. Mostly red roses.
Erica wondered if he too was looking around and thinking that the child’s father might be among the group gathered at the grave.
When the coffin was lowered into the ground Birgit let out a long, drawn-out sigh. Karl-Erik was resolute and dry-eyed. It took all his strength to hold Birgit upright, both physically and emotionally. Julia stood a bit away from them. Henrik had been right in his description of Julia as the family’s ugly duckling. Unlike her big sister, she was dark-haired with short tresses clumsily cut in what could hardly be called a hairstyle. Her features were coarse, with deeply set eyes peering out from beneath a fringe that was much too long. She wore no make-up, and her skin showed clear signs of severe acne during her teens. Birgit looked even smaller and more fragile than usual standing next to Julia. Her youngest daughter was more than four inches taller, with a broad, heavy, shapeless body. Fascinated, Erica watched the series of conflicting emotions that raced like whirlwinds across Julia’s face. Pain and rage alternated at lightning speed. No tears. She was the only one who hadn’t placed a flower on the casket, and when the ceremony was over she quickly turned her back on the hole in the ground and headed back towards the church.
Erica wondered how relations had been between the sisters. It couldn’t have been easy, always being compared with Alex, always drawing the short straw. Julia’s turned back was a rebuff as she quickly put more distance between herself and the rest of the group. Her shoulders were hunched in a dismissive gesture.
Henrik came up to Erica.
‘We’re going to have a small reception afterwards. We’d be happy if you came.’
‘Well, I don’t really know,’ said Erica.
‘You could stop by for a little while at least.’
She hesitated. ‘Well, okay. Where is it? At Ulla’s house?’
‘No, we considered having it there but finally decided on Birgit and Karl-Erik’s house. Despite what happened there, I know that Alex loved that house. We all have happy memories from there, so what better place to remember her? Even though I understand that it might be a bit tough for you. You don’t have such pleasant memories from your last visit, I mean.’
Erica blushed in shame at the thought of what had really been her last visit. Quickly, she looked away.
‘It’ll be fine,’ she said.
She drove her own car and parked again in the lot behind Håkebacken School. The house was already full when she went in, and she wondered if she should turn round and go home. The moment for that came and passed; when Henrik came over and took her jacket, it was too late to change her mind.
It was crowded around the dining-room table, where a buffet of savoury quiches was laid out. Erica chose a big piece with shrimp and quickly moved to a corner of the room, where she could