Dead of Winter

17 Winter 1987

The next morning, the ice extended further out into the lake.

‘If it carries on like this we’ll be able to get our skates out at the weekend,’ Hedda said, putting her arm around Laura. ‘I hope you haven’t forgotten how to skate!’

They were walking through the holiday village on the eastern path, following the shoreline, passing cabins ten and twelve, then the snow-covered minigolf course and football pitch. Laura had glanced up at Jack’s window when they reached the boathouse, but the lights were out and the curtains closed.

It was only seven fifteen, and the sun was beginning to rise. Hedda was pulling the sled, with the axe resting on top.

Vintersjöholm Castle had a large Christmas tree plantation beyond Alkärret, at the eastern corner of the lake. Every year, early one morning in the days leading up to Lucia, Hedda and Laura sneaked in. When they’d located the perfect tree, Laura kept watch while her aunt wielded the axe. Then they hurried home with their booty before anyone spotted them.

The outing was usually one of Laura’s favourite traditions, but on this particular day she was finding it hard to get in the right mood.

‘How’s the bruise?’

Hedda stopped and gently ran her hand over Laura’s forehead.

‘OK.’

Laura hadn’t revealed all the details of the previous evening; she’d simply agreed when Ulf Jensen gave his version of events. She’d accepted a lift from Kent Rask, they’d ended up in the ditch, and the bang on her head had left her a little confused. She didn’t want to tell Hedda that Kent had frightened her, or why she’d set off for home on foot instead of waiting for the bus.

Fortunately, Hedda hadn’t said much. She’d thanked Ulf for his help, examined the bump on Laura’s forehead and shone a torch in her eyes to make sure she hadn’t suffered a concussion. Then she’d made macaroni cheese for supper and sat with her arm around Laura on the sofa until the girl fell asleep, as if she realised it was closeness that was needed rather than a cross-examination.

‘Do you feel sick?’

Laura shook her head.

‘Ulf said you came off the road just before Källegården’s drive. Why didn’t Kent drop you at the turning for Gärdsnäset?’

A good question, one that Laura had asked herself several times. Why had Kent Rask kept going? What would have happened if the deer hadn’t appeared in the middle of the road?

‘He said he had to pick up a couple of things for you.’

‘I see.’

‘Do you know what he meant?’

Hedda nodded. ‘It’s something and nothing – I thought he’d forgotten about it. Forest business, you know?’

Forest business – the kind of business you kept to yourself. Like when Hedda taught her to make ‘elk poo’ out of mud and fir needles and put it in jars to sell in the shop to German tourists.

Laura wanted to ask what forest business Hedda and Kent were involved in, but her aunt had sped up and was now several metres ahead. Laura felt relieved, and a little stupid at the same time. Kent really had had a legitimate errand. She’d been scared for no reason.

‘Jack wants to start draining here in the spring.’ Hedda had stopped and was pointing in among the trees. ‘He thinks we’ve got room for eight or ten caravans and at least as many tents if we can just get rid of the ground water from the marsh.’

Jack’s name made Laura’s heart skip a beat.

They reached the stone wall that formed the border between the holiday village and the marsh. A set of steps with sturdy railings on either side made it possible to get over the wall.

‘Grab the back end.’

Together they managed to lift the sled over. The snow made the wood slippery, and it was a couple of minutes before they were safely on the other side.

Alkärret was Källegården’s only contact with the lake. A few hectares of low-lying marshland, squeezed in between Gärdsnäset and the castle, no good for agricultural use or construction. Ulf Jensen grazed his sheep on the marsh, a rare breed that could stay outdoors all year round. Their name was difficult to pronounce. Laura and Iben had always found the sheep a little creepy, with their blue-black heads and bulging eyes, but the animals tended to stick to the area nearest the main road, where the ground was less muddy.

The path gave way to an overgrown duckboard footbridge that wound its way between the trees. Here and there the snow had been blown away, exposing dark patches of frozen water. Hedda pointed to them and said: ‘The eyes of the nymph. So be careful what you do.’

She nudged Laura in the side with her elbow.

Laura pulled a face to show that she didn’t care about old superstitions, yet she couldn’t help glancing at those black patches from time to time. They really did look like eyes.

The marsh was quiet; the only sound came from their own footsteps and the sled scraping along the footbridge. Occasionally a few crows who were up early struck up their own dissonant version of the dawn chorus.

Laura wanted to tell Hedda about the previous day. About her meeting with Iben. About Iben and Jack. Yet at the same time she didn’t want to, oddly enough. Maybe she was afraid of what her aunt would say? Instead, she decided to bring up something else that had been bothering her.

‘Why didn’t you tell me about Milla in your letters?’

Hedda stopped.

‘Oh – I thought I had done, but it’s been such a busy autumn.’ She made an apologetic gesture. ‘An old friend of mine who’s a social worker got in touch. Milla was only meant to be staying for a few weeks, but things became difficult, so I’ve agreed that she can stay until she turns eighteen in January. We’ve got plenty of room in the winter – there’s only me and Jack.’

‘And me!’ Laura snapped.

Hedda smiled and stroked her forehead again.

‘And you, of course. I should have said something. Can you forgive me?’

Laura would have liked to sulk for a while longer, but Hedda was smiling in the way that made it hard to stay mad at her.

‘Of course,’ she muttered.

Hedda flung her arms around her niece and dug her fingers into her ribs.

‘I didn’t hear you. Do you forgive me?’

Laura stepped off the bridge, lost her balance and fell into a snowdrift with Hedda on top of her. Her aunt carried on tickling her.

‘Say you forgive me! Say it!’

Laura wriggled and kicked and tried to keep the mask in place, but it was impossible. She was very ticklish, and Hedda knew exactly what she was doing.

‘OK, OK, I forgive you!’ Laura laughed.

The tickling stopped, Hedda rolled to the side and they lay there next to each other in the snow.

‘I love you, my perfect little princess.’

Laura didn’t answer. The happiness she’d been searching for ever since she arrived finally seemed to be within reach, but then she thought back to yesterday again.

‘Why did Milla have to move?’ she asked, trying to keep the unpleasantness at bay.

‘She had a few problems. She needed to get away for a while.’

‘What kind of problems?’

‘She was mixing with the wrong people. Made a few mistakes. It’s easily done when you’re young and stupid and think you’re immortal. I was the same.’

‘So what did you do?’

Hedda didn’t reply. Instead, she scrambled to her feet, brushed off the snow and held out her hand to Laura.

‘Come on – let’s go and chop down that tree before the forest ranger wakes up!’

They clambered back onto the footbridge and set off towards the castle. Laura took the lead, and Hedda followed on behind with the sled. The hoarse, agitated cawing of the crows grew louder as they approached an ancient oak tree growing on solid ground. They could see black, flapping wings among the branches; the birds were so busy they barely registered the presence of strangers.

Then, as if from nowhere, came a stench that took Laura’s breath away. Paraffin, singed hair, burned meat.

‘Laura,’ Hedda said warningly, but it was too late. She’d already looked up.

A body was hanging by a noose on a branch. Laura gasped, saw a triangular, blue-black head with the tongue hanging out. A torso, white ribs, the remains of charred black wool.

One of the crows was perched on top of the sheep’s head, repeatedly driving its sharp beak into the empty eye socket. It pulled out something grey and wobbly, which it swallowed with a jerky movement.

In spite of the cold, the smell seemed to be getting stronger with every second. Laura’s stomach contracted. She forced herself to look away and staggered over to the nearest tree trunk. She stumbled, landed on her knees and just managed to avoid throwing up over her jacket.

‘Not again,’ she heard Hedda murmur. ‘Not another one . . .’