The Drowned Boy

44

Twenty-third of June. Midsummer’s Eve, morning.

He called to her to see if she had any garbage. He had a couple of boxes out in the hall and wanted to drive down to Stranda to put them on the Midsummer bonfire. Carmen looked up from the paper and saw his red curls, a shock of newly polished copper. Anders looked nothing like Nicolai. He was much more muscular, with broad shoulders and big hands, and a jaw that indicated strength and stamina. But she could still wrap him around her little finger, as she normally did with boys.

“What have you got in the boxes?” she asked.

She folded the newspaper and put it down.

“Old schoolbooks,” he said hastily. “I found them down in the cellar. And some old papers, I’ve tidied it all up, the drawers and cupboards. I did it while you were sleeping. How are you? Are you feeling better? I feel so helpless when you collapse like that. You’re not taking your medicine regularly, I know. Anyway, I’m going to drive down to Stranda and throw all this on the fire. Papers shouldn’t be thrown in the garbage, they should be burned; don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” Carmen said. “I agree. Do you want me to come and help?”

He shook his head. “No, I can do it myself. Don’t worry. I won’t be long. And you shouldn’t be carrying anything in your condition.”

She got up from the chair and went over to him. He kissed her gently on the cheek, because he couldn’t get enough of her almost silky golden skin. He had snatched her from under the noses of a pack of flirting boys and he was proud of it. No matter where they went, her beauty drew attention. Young or not, Carmen was a catch and he would never find anything like her anywhere in the world. Nothing as beautiful as his angel with the white hair.

“Let’s go out to eat tonight,” he said. “It’s so warm. I can’t bear slaving over a hot stove in this weather.” Carmen agreed. Her hands and feet were swollen and her head felt heavy. The beginning of a headache was whirring at her temples. He carried the boxes of books and papers out to the car and drove through the gate. Zita had put up a fence, which shone newly painted in the summer sun. A white fence now protected the old house. The pond was still there like a glittering black mirror, and it gnawed at her, making her irritable and annoyed. The whole thing had disrupted her orderly life. Damn, she thought, dammit! She calmed herself down and stroked her stomach. Life went on and she was in a good mood, even with the case pending. She was going to fight for her life. She would fight for her freedom with tooth and claw. Because she deserved it, at least that was how she saw it. She went out onto the step and waved. The dog jumped and danced beside her, barking happily into the clear air. Anders, she thought and smiled, my darling Anders. It’s the two of us now, and our baby will be healthy.

Then she went in again with a growing unease because she hadn’t looked to see what was in the boxes. She hadn’t checked to see what he was throwing out. And now it was too late; the car had already disappeared around the bend, and the papers would soon be thrown on a bonfire to burn. She decided to write a last diary entry. So she went back into the living room, pulled out the bottom drawer in the desk, and started to look through it frantically. And as she rummaged, she got more and more agitated and her cheeks flushed. Because that was where she always kept her diary.