Dead of Winter

43 Winter 1987

Laura looked at herself in Milla’s bathroom mirror for at least the tenth time. The person staring out at her had backcombed hair with blonde streaks. Dark blusher highlighted her cheekbones, and eyeshadow, eyeliner and mascara brought out her eyes. Her lipstick was pink and glossy. No longer a little princess, but a young woman.

She glanced at her watch: exactly seven o’clock. The party was starting, but Milla had told her to wait in the cabin. She and Peter and Tomas would take care of all the preparations.

She went into Milla’s bedroom. A packed suitcase stood by the wall, while another lay open on the bed. Milla had picked out some of her own clothes for Laura to wear. High-waisted stonewashed jeans, a wide belt and a Bardot top. Finally, wedges; she’d needed a little practice to be able to walk in them.

Laura had mixed feelings about Milla’s departure from Gärdsnäset. They’d become allies, but at the same time Milla was obviously no good for Tomas. And then there was that vague, unpleasant feeling that you never quite knew where you were with her, that she could turn her back on you at any moment. It was as if she were playing a game in which Tomas, Peter and Laura were merely counters.

She heard footsteps, then the door opened and Milla came in, wearing her hoodie as usual. She might have had a bit more makeup on.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘Showtime!’

The dance hall looked pretty good. The air inside was warm and smelled of fan heaters, cigarette smoke and food. Peter and Tomas had moved the tarpaulin-covered stacks of outdoor furniture and other summer equipment to one side, leaving a space roughly in the middle of the dance floor. A long table was laid with plastic cups and serviettes that they must have found in one of the boxes, and they’d hung up the coloured lights that had been used in the main cabin on the night she’d arrived.

On another table the boys had rigged up a couple of hotplates and set out the sausages and bread they’d stolen the other day, along with several bottles of wine and spirits that must also have been nicked from somewhere. The boom box, which looked new, was playing ‘Soul Deep’ by Roxette.

Jack, Peter, Iben and Tomas were sitting at the table, and Peter was busy pouring wine into glasses.

‘There she is,’ he said a little too loudly as Laura and Milla arrived.

Milla stopped just inside the door and let Laura go on alone. Everyone was staring at her, and for a moment she considered changing her mind and running back home to Hedda. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and calmly walked up to the table. One foot in front of the other, as Milla had taught her.

Jack’s eyes grew bigger as she came closer – but not only his. Peter was staring too, as was Tomas, and even Iben. Wide-eyed, open-mouthed, almost exactly as she’d imagined it.

Laura pulled out a chair and sat down next to Jack.

‘What do I have to do to get a drink around here?’ she said to Peter.

The evening went better than she’d dared to hope. Jack seemed to have fallen completely under her spell, as had Peter.

Iben was clearly irritated, while Tomas said nothing, as usual. Milla wandered around looking pleased with herself – or full of anticipation for what was to come?

Peter topped up Laura’s glass yet again, and she felt the dance hall begin to spin very slowly. Jack took out his cigarettes and tapped out a Prince Red. Laura raised an eyebrow; that was all it took for him to offer her one. She placed it between her lips in the cool way that Milla had shown her, then leaned in towards him, placed her hand on his and gazed into his eyes as he lit the cigarette.

Jack’s cheeks flushed red. Laura’s confidence grew, and the warmth of the wine spread through her body. This was the best night ever.

Someone tugged roughly at her arm.

‘I want to talk to you,’ Iben hissed. ‘Put your jacket on!’

Laura followed her outside, walking slowly so that Iben would be forced to wait for her, but also to avoid falling over. The wedge heels and the wine weren’t a good combination, and she promised herself that she wouldn’t drink any more this evening.

They stopped beneath the light. The ice shone white, the moon was reflected in the black eye out in the lake.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Iben snapped.

‘Sorry?’

‘Me and Jack are together, and yet you’re coming on to him.’

‘What do you mean?’

Laura pretended to be surprised, but realised that the wine was making her overact.

‘Oh, please!’

‘You knew I was in love with Jack, but you still got together with him, without a word to me. Your best friend.’

‘We . . . we thought all that was sorted. We thought you were OK with it.’

There was that word again. We. As if Iben and Jack belonged together and had been talking about her.

‘I’m not fucking OK with anything,’ Laura informed her. ‘I’ve known Jack longer than you. There’s always been something special between us, but you jumped in when I wasn’t around.’

Iben snorted.

‘You don’t live here – you’re just a tourist. Someone who turns up in the holidays and does fun stuff. Who gets pampered and mollycoddled like a spoiled princess. And now you’re sulking because you can’t have something – or someone – you want.’

‘That’s rich coming from you, Wonder Woman! With your sporting records and your top grades. Iben Jensen, who never fails at anything. You’re just a bad loser. That’s one thing your daddy hasn’t taught you.’

Iben moved a step closer and clenched her fists. Her face was red, her eyes burning in a way Laura had never seen before. Laura recoiled involuntarily, tripped over her own feet in those ridiculous heels and landed on her bottom in a snowdrift. Before she could get up, Iben grabbed her by the hair.

‘Ow!’ Laura whimpered, trying to prise Iben’s fingers away.

‘Don’t talk about my dad!’ Iben yelled. ‘You know nothing!’

Laura’s eyes filled with tears. She struggled to free herself, but Iben was too strong.

‘Let go of her!’

Milla had appeared out of nowhere, and was standing there with one hand behind her back.

Iben turned around.

‘Let go!’

Milla produced the baton she’d stolen from the cottage.

‘You think you’re so fucking cool,’ Iben muttered. ‘But Tomas has told me what you’re doing, making him and Peter run your errands. And now you’ve dragged Laura into it as well!’

She straightened up and took a step towards Milla.

‘Go on, then. Hit me if you dare.’

The two girls were of equal height, but Laura was in no doubt about who was the stronger. Milla raised the baton, but Iben wasn’t afraid. She laughed in Milla’s face.

‘At least Hedda’s finally realised what you are – a psychopath.’ The scorn in her voice was unmistakable. ‘Have a lovely time in Värmland!’

Iben walked away and went back inside. Laura scrambled to her feet and brushed the snow off her bottom. Her cheeks were burning.

Milla slowly lowered the baton. Stared after Iben.

‘We have to do something about her,’ she said.

The telephone kiosk was behind the main cabin, a plastic bubble attached to the wall, surrounding a green metal box. Laura inserted a one-krona coin, hesitated briefly when she heard the dialling tone.

‘Do it,’ Milla whispered. ‘Iben’s in there with Jack. Fuck knows what she’s saying about you.’

The dial felt ice-cold to Laura’s index finger, and made a rattling noise every time she let go of it. The phone rang out, once, twice, three times, four times. She was about to hang up when she heard a click.

‘Jensen.’ It was Fredrik’s voice.

‘Iben isn’t at the cinema.’ Laura tried to cover the receiver with her hand, like they did in the movies. ‘She’s at the dance hall at Gärdsnäset with Jack Olsson. Orphan Boy!’