The Hidden Child Read online

  CAMILLA LACKBERG

  The Hidden Child

  Translated by Tiina Nunnally

  Dedication

  To Wille & Meja

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2 - Fjällbacka 1943

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4 - Kristiansand 1943

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6 - Fjällbacka 1943

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8 - Fjällbacka 1943

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10 - Fjällbacka 1943

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12 - Kristiansand 1943

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14 - Fjällbacka 1943

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16 - Fjällbacka 1943

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18 - Grini, Outside Oslo, 1943

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20 - Fjällbacka 1944

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22 - Grini, Outside Oslo, 1944

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24 - Fjällbacka 1944

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26 - Fjällbacka 1944

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28 - Fjällbacka 1944

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30 - Fjällbacka 1944

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32 - Sachsenhausen 1945

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34 - Fjällbacka 1945

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36 - Fjällbacka 1945

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38 - Fjällbacka 1945

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40 - Fjällbacka 1945

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42 - Fjällbacka 1945

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44 - Germany 1945

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46 - Borlänge 1945

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48 - Fjällbacka 1945

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50 - Fjällbacka 1945

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52 - Fjällbacka 1945

  Chapter 53 - Fjällbacka 1975

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  By the same author

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter 1

  In the stillness of the room the only sound was from the flies. A constant buzzing from the frantic beating of their wings. The man in the chair didn’t move, and he hadn’t for a long time. He wasn’t actually a man any more. Not if a man was defined as someone who lived, breathed, and felt. By now he’d been reduced to fodder. A haven for insects and maggots.

  The flies buzzed in a great swarm around the motionless figure. Sometimes landing, their mandibles moving. Then flying off again in search of a new spot to land. Feeling their way and bumping into one another. The area around the wound in the man’s head was of particular interest though the metallic odour of blood had long since vanished, replaced by a different smell that was mustier and sweeter.

  The blood had coagulated. At first it had poured from the back of his head and down the chair, on to the floor where it formed a pool. Initially it was red, filled with living corpuscles. Now it had changed colour, turning black. The puddle was no longer recognizable as the viscous fluid that ran through a person’s veins. Now it was merely a sticky black mass.

  Some of the flies had had their fill. They had laid their eggs. Now, sated and satisfied, they simply wanted out. Their wings beat against the windowpane in their futile attempts to get past the invisible barrier, striking the glass with a faint clicking sound. Eventually they gave up. When their hunger returned, they went back to what had once been a man but was now nothing but meat.

  All summer long Erica had circled around the thoughts that were always on her mind. Weighing the pros and cons, she would find herself tempted to go up there. But she never got further than the bottom of the stairs leading to the attic. She could blame it on the fact that the past few months had been so busy, with everything that had to be done after the wedding and the chaos in the house when Anna and her kids were still living with them. But that wasn’t the whole truth. She was simply afraid. Afraid of what she might find. Afraid of rooting around and bringing things to the surface that she would have preferred not to acknowledge.

  She knew that Patrik was wondering why she didn’t want to read the notebooks they’d found up in the attic. Several times he had seemed on the verge of asking her about it, but he’d held back. If he had asked, she wouldn’t have been able to answer. What scared her most was that she might have to change her view of reality. The image she’d always had of her mother – who she was as a person and how she’d treated her daughters – was not very positive. But it was Erica’s, all the same. An image that was familiar, an unshakable truth that had held up through the years and had been something she could count on. Maybe it would be confirmed. Maybe it would even be reinforced. But what if it was undermined? What if she was forced to relate to a whole new reality? Up until now she hadn’t been brave enough to find out.

  Erica set her foot on the first step. From downstairs in the living room she heard Maja’s happy laughter as Patrik played with her. The sound was comforting, and she put her other foot on the stairs. Only five more steps to the top.

  The dust swirled in the air when she pushed open the trap door and climbed up into the attic. She and Patrik had talked about remodelling the space sometime in the future, maybe as a cosy hideaway for Maja when she was older and wanted some privacy. But thus far it remained an unfinished attic with wide planks for the floor and a sloping ceiling with exposed beams. It was partially filled with clutter. Christmas decorations, clothes that Maja had outgrown, and boxes of items that were too ugly to have downstairs but too expensive or too fraught with memories to discard.

  The chest stood way at the back, near the gable wall. It was old-fashioned, wood with metal fittings. Erica had a vague notion that it was what they called an ‘America trunk’. She went over and sat down on the floor next to it, running her hand over the top. After taking a deep breath she gripped the latch and lifted the lid. A musty smell rose up, making her nose twitch. She wondered what created such a distinct, heavy odour of age. Probably mildew, she thought, noticing that her scalp was beginning to itch.

  She could still recall the emotion that had overwhelmed her when she and Patrik first discovered the chest and went through its contents, slowly lifting each item out. Drawings that she and Anna had done when they were children, little things they had made at school. All of them saved by their mother Elsy. The mother who had never seemed interested when her young daughters had come home and eagerly presented her with their creations.

  Erica did the same thing now, taking out one item after another and setting everything on the floor. What she was looking for was at the very bottom of the chest. Carefully she took out the piece of cloth, finally holding it in her hands again. The infant’s shirt had once been white, but as she held it up to the light she could see how it had yellowed with age. And she couldn’t take her eyes off the small brown stains on the garment. At first she had assumed they were rust spots, but then she’d realized they must be dried blood. There was something so heartbreaking about finding spots of blood on the child’s shirt. How had it ended up here in the attic? Whose was it? And why had her mother saved it?

  Erica gently placed the shirt next to her on the floor. When she and Patrik first found the garment, an object had been wrapped inside, but it was no longer there. That was the only thing she had removed from the chest – a Nazi medal that had been hidden in the stained cloth. The emotions awakened in her when she first saw the medal had been surprising. Her heart had begun pounding, he
r mouth went dry, and images from old newsreels and documentaries about the Second World War flickered before her eyes. What was a Nazi medal doing here in Fjällbacka? In her own home and among her mother’s possessions? The whole situation seemed absurd. She had wanted to put the medal back in the chest and close the lid, but Patrik had insisted that they take it to an expert to find out more. Reluctantly Erica had agreed, but she felt as if voices were whispering inside her; ominous voices, warning her to hide the medal away and forget all about it. But her curiosity had won out. In early June she’d taken it to an expert specializing in World War II artefacts, and with a little luck they would soon know more about the medal’s origin.

  But what interested Erica most was what they’d found at the very bottom of the chest. Four blue notebooks. She recognized her mother’s handwriting on the covers. That elegant, right-slanted writing, but in a younger, rounder version. Now Erica removed the notebooks from the chest, running her index finger over the cover of the one on top. Each of them had been labelled ‘Diary’, a word that aroused mixed feelings in her. Curiosity, excitement, eagerness. But also fear, doubt, and a strong feeling that she was invading her mother’s privacy. Did she have the right to read these notebooks? Did she have the right to delve into her mother’s innermost thoughts and feelings? A diary was not intended for anyone else’s eyes. Her mother hadn’t written the books so that others might share the contents. Maybe she would have forbidden her daughter to read them. But Elsy was dead, and Erica couldn’t ask for permission. She would have to decide for herself what to do with the notebooks.

  ‘Erica?’ Patrik’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘The guests are arriving!’

  Erica glanced at her watch. Oh lord, was it already three o’clock? Today was Maja’s first birthday, and their closest friends and family members were coming over. Patrik must have thought she’d fallen asleep up here.

  ‘I’m coming!’ She brushed the dust off her clothes and, after a moment’s hesitation, picked up the notebooks and the child’s shirt before descending the steep attic stairs.

  ‘Welcome!’ Patrik stepped aside to let in the first of their guests. It was through Maja that they’d met Johan and Elisabeth, who had a son the same age. The boy loved Maja to bits, but sometimes he was a little too aggressive in showing it. Now, as soon as William caught sight of Maja in the hall, he bulldozed into her like an ice-hockey player. Unsurprisingly, Maja didn’t particularly care for this, and his parents had to extricate the shrieking object of his affections from William’s embrace.

  ‘William, that’s no way to behave! You have to be more careful with girls.’ Johan gave his son an admonishing look as he tried to restrain him.

  ‘I think his pickup technique is about the same as the one you used to use,’ Elisabeth said with a laugh, but her husband was clearly not amused.

  ‘There, there, sweetheart, it wasn’t that bad,’ Patrik said to Maja. ‘Upsy-daisy.’ He picked up his sobbing daughter and hugged her until her cries dwindled to whimpers. Then he set her down again and gave her a gentle push in William’s direction. ‘Look what William has brought for you. A present!’

  The magic word had the intended effect. Maja’s tears evaporated as William tottered across to hand her a present tied with ribbon. With Patrik’s help she got the package open and pulled out a cuddly grey elephant, which was an instant success. She hugged it to her chest, wrapping her arms around the soft body and stamping her feet in delight, but William’s attempt to pat the elephant was repelled with a look of defiance. Rising to the challenge, her little admirer immediately redoubled his efforts.

  ‘Let’s go through to the living room,’ said Patrik, scooping his daughter up in his arms to prevent further conflict. William’s parents followed, and when the boy was placed in front of the big toy box, peace was restored. At least temporarily.

  ‘Hi, everybody!’ said Erica as she came downstairs. She gave their guests a hug and patted William on the head.

  ‘Who wants coffee?’ Patrik called from the kitchen. All three said ‘I do’ in unison.

  ‘So how is life as a married woman?’ asked Johan with a smile, putting his arm around Elisabeth as they sat on the sofa.

  ‘About the same. Except that Patrik keeps calling me “the missus”. Any tips on how I can get him to stop?’ Erica turned to Elisabeth and winked.

  ‘You might as well give up trying. It won’t be long before he’ll stop talking about the “missus” and go on and on about the government instead, so make the most of it. Where’s Anna, by the way?’

  ‘She’s over at Dan’s house. They’ve already moved in together.’ Erica raised an eyebrow significantly.

  ‘Oh, really? That was fast.’ Elisabeth’s eyebrow went up too.

  They were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell, and Erica jumped up. ‘That’s probably them now. Or Kristina.’ The latter name was spoken with ice cubes audibly clinking between the syllables. Since the wedding, Erica’s relationship with her mother-in-law had grown even frostier. This was mostly due to Kristina’s zealous campaign to convince Patrik that it wouldn’t be right for a real man to take four months’ paternity leave. To her great dismay, he had refused to budge an inch. In fact, he was the one who had insisted on taking care of Maja through the autumn.

  ‘Hello, is there a birthday girl here?’ Anna could be heard asking from the front hall. Erica couldn’t help shivering with contentment every time she heard how happy her little sister sounded. For so many years there had been no joy in her voice, but now it was back. Anna sounded strong and happy and in love.

  At first Anna had been worried that Erica might be upset that she and Dan had taken up with each other. But Erica had merely laughed at her concern. It seemed an eternity since she and Dan had been a couple. And even if she had found it a bit awkward, she would have set aside her own feelings just to see Anna happy again.

  ‘Where’s my favourite girl?’ Dan, big, blond and boisterous, came in and looked around for Maja. The two of them had a special rapport, and she immediately came toddling towards him, holding out her arms. ‘Present?’ she asked, now that she’d started to understand the whole concept of a birthday.

  ‘Of course we have a present for you, sweetie,’ said Dan. He nodded to Anna, who held out a big package wrapped in pink paper with a silver ribbon. Maja pulled out of Dan’s arms and began struggling to open the present. This time Erica helped her, and together they took out a big doll with eyes that opened and closed.

  ‘Dolly,’ said Maja gleefully, giving the present another of her bear hugs. Then she set off to show William her latest treasure.

  The doorbell rang again, and a second later Kristina came into the room. Erica couldn’t help gritting her teeth. She hated the way her mother-in-law would press the doorbell in what was largely a symbolic gesture before barging into the house.

  The presentation and unwrapping of a gift was repeated, but this time it wasn’t such a hit. Maja hesitantly held up the undershirts that she found inside the package, then searched the wrapping paper again to make sure that she hadn’t overlooked a toy. Then she stared at her grandmother, wide-eyed.

  ‘Last time I was here I noticed that she’d almost outgrown the undershirt she was wearing, and since Lindex had a three-for-the-price-of-two sale on, I bought her a few. I’m sure they’ll come in handy.’ Kristina smiled with satisfaction and seemed completely oblivious to Maja’s disappointed expression.

  Erica fought back the urge to say how stupid she thought it was to buy clothes for a child’s first birthday. Besides the fact that Maja was clearly disappointed, Kristina had also managed to slip in one of her customary barbs. Apparently Erica and Patrik were incapable of properly clothing their daughter.

  ‘Time for cake,’ called Patrik, who had an infallible knack for knowing the exact moment to distract everyone from an awkward situation. Swallowing her annoyance, Erica joined the blowing-out-the-candles ceremony. Maja’s attempt
s to blow out the solitary candle succeeded only in spraying the cake with saliva. Patrik discreetly extinguished the tiny flame, and then everyone sang happy birthday and shouted ‘Hurrah’. Over Maja’s blonde head, Erica caught her husband’s eye. A lump formed in her throat, and she saw that Patrik was equally moved by the occasion. One year. Their baby was a year old. A little girl who toddled around on her own, who clapped her hands whenever she heard the theme music for Bolibompa, who could feed herself, who doled out the softest kisses in all of northern Europe, and who loved the whole world. Erica smiled at Patrik. He smiled back. At that particular moment, life was perfect.

  Bertil Mellberg sighed heavily. That was something he did frequently these days. The setback from last spring was still making him depressed. But he wasn’t surprised. He’d allowed himself to lose control, allowed himself merely to be, to feel. And that sort of thing never went unpunished. He should have known better. It might even be said that he deserved what had happened to him. Well, he’d learned his lesson, and he wasn’t the sort to make the same mistake twice; that much was certain.

  ‘Bertil?’ Annika called urgently from the reception area. With a practised gesture, Mellberg pushed back the lock of hair that had slipped down from his nearly bald pate and reluctantly got up. There were very few females from whom he was willing to take orders, but Annika Jansson belonged to the exclusive club. Over the years he’d even developed a reluctant respect for her, and he couldn’t think of another woman of whom he could say that. The disastrous consequences of hiring that female officer last spring had only served to reinforce his view. And now they were going to have another woman join the team. He sighed again. Was it so hard to find male officers? Why did they insist on sending girls to replace Ernst Lundgren? It was a miserable situation.

  He frowned when he heard a dog barking out in the reception area. Had Annika brought one of her dogs to work? She knew what he thought about mutts. He’d have to have a talk with her about that.