The Quarry

10

The smell of limestone and seaweed, sea and coast. The wind over the shore, the sun shining on the sound, winter and spring meeting in the air above the island.

It was Sunday morning, and Per was standing out on the patio with a broom, wishing that the spring sunshine could reach into all the dark corners of his body. Ernst had built two stone patios along the front and back of the house, one facing south-east and the other north-west, which was clever, because you could either follow the sun from morning until evening, or sit in the shade all day.

He straightened his back and looked out over the rocky shoreline. He knew he should feel happier to be standing here by the sea than he actually did. He wanted to feel peaceful and calm, but his anxiety about Nilla was too strong. Anxiety about what the doctors would find.

There wasn’t much he could do about it; he just had to keep going.

The old patio was made of limestone; it was uneven and full of weeds growing between the slabs, but it was sturdily built. Once Per had swept all the leaves away, he walked to the edge and looked down into the quarry. Nothing was moving, and the stone steps they had built yesterday stood firm, halfway up the rock face. Then he looked over at the new houses to the south, thinking about the new neighbours and their money.

It was certainly worth thinking about. He estimated that the two plots and the houses on them must have cost a couple of million, at least. Perhaps even three, including all the overheads. His new neighbours weren’t short of money, and that was really all he knew about them.

Time to get out Ernst’s garden furniture. It was made of cane, like something you might find on a plantation veranda in the jungle.

The telephone in the kitchen started ringing as he was standing in the doorway with the first chair in his hands.

‘Jesper?’ he shouted. ‘Can you get that?’

He didn’t know where his son was, but there was no response.

The telephone rang again, and after the fourth ring he put the chair down and went to answer it.

‘Per Mörner.’

‘Hello?’ said a slurred voice. ‘Pelle?’

It was his father again, of course. Per closed his eyes wearily and thought that Jerry could have afforded to build one of those luxury villas by the quarry. Well, ten or fifteen years ago, anyway. But Per had never seen any of his money, and since the stroke Jerry’s finances were uncertain, to say the least. He was no longer able to work.

‘Where are you calling from, Jerry? Where are you?’

There was a hissing noise on the line before the answer came: ‘Ryd.’

‘OK, so you’ve arrived. You were going to go up to the studio, weren’t you?’

‘To see Bremer,’ said Jerry.

‘I understand. You’re at Bremer’s now.’

But Jerry hesitated, and Per went on, ‘Haven’t you seen Hans Bremer? Wasn’t he going to pick you up?’

‘Not here.’

Per wondered if Jerry was drunk and confused, or merely confused.

‘Go home then, Jerry,’ he said firmly. ‘Go the station and hop on the next bus back to Kristianstad.’

‘Can’t.’

‘Yes you can, Jerry. Off you go.’

There was a silence once more. ‘Fetch me, Pelle?’

Per hesitated. ‘No. It’s impossible.’

Silence at the other end of the phone. ‘Pelle... Pelle?’

Per clutched the receiver more tightly. ‘I haven’t got time, Jerry,’ he said. ‘I’ve got Jesper here, and Nilla will be coming soon... I have to check with them first.’

But his father had put the phone down.

Per knew where the village of Ryd was. Two hours by car — that was how long it would take from Öland. Too long, really. But the conversation with Jerry had left him uneasy.

Keep an eye on him, his mother had once said.

Anita had never referred to her ex-husband by name. And it was Per who had kept in touch with Jerry and told her what he was up to, year after year. The trips he had made, the women he had met. It was an obligation he had never asked for.

He had promised Anita that he would keep an eye on Jerry. But the promise had been made on certain conditions, one of which was that he never saw his father alone.

Per decided: he would go down to Ryd.

Jesper could stay here. He and Nilla had only met their grandfather on a handful of occasions, for a few hours each time, and that was no doubt for the best.

Not letting his children associate with Jerry had been one of Per’s best decisions.